


Dragons of Winter

by xoAutumnLoveox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoAutumnLoveox/pseuds/xoAutumnLoveox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are always three choices you have to make when you become lord or something, king of something, lady of whatever. Your first choice, to embrace the role or forsake it. The second is deciding how you want to rule, and the third... the third is deciding what kind of a man you're going to be when it comes to everything else."</p><p>AU-ish, T for scenes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How the Years have Melted

**How the Years have Melted**

Arya waited until both Sansa and Dany were in sight before she gave the signal to Bran to launch the first snowballs. Rickon had wanted to play too but he couldn't climb trees yet so Arya instructed him to build a snow fort for cover on the ground below. Rickon had been more than content to be included in the game, but then he'd gone off when something else interested him more. Dumb baby.

"So then I said to Jane that she couldn't have seen the Queen, not for herself in any manner. The Queen is arriving in a great column with knights and a carriage and the handsome Prince Joffery. I told her so but she insists. Well, we'll see who has the pleasure to be correct in less than a fortnight." Sansa spoke in delighted tones, oblivious to her sister and brother who blended with the trees so neatly. Except for Bran's Tully hair, but if Sansa dared not look up she'd be none the wiser regardless.

Dany, aware of the coming ambush, directed a quick, sly smile toward Arya before commenting on Sansa's tale. "I hardly blame the poor girl for thinking so."

"How do you mean?"

"Any blonde lady in the north would draw my attention as well."

Sansa fixed her with a elegantly disbelieving look. "You are blonde, Daenerys."

Dany laughed gracefully, the way Sansa one day hoped she could laugh. "I prefer pale-haired. Blonde is more, yellow, shall we say? I'm white as snow,"

As if on cue Arya and Bran released the snowballs, gathering the rest of their stock as they scrambled to lower branches and finally the ground. Sansa shrieked, glaring at her sister with distaste, though only for an instant. In the next she had snow packed and flying back at them. All four of them were laughing in no time, dripping with shattered snowballs and breathless from running. Dany had snow clinging to her eyelashes, and Bran's fur trim was all frozen together. Arya and Sansa were rolling in the snow, play fighting like proper boys. It was when a stray snowball came from the left, just missing Dany and Bran who were seated comfortably in a drift of snow, and smacked Arya in the back of the head that they realized they were not alone.

"Is there snow enough for two more?"

Robb Stark stood beside his bastard half-brother Jon Snow. Robb was tall, handsome, and lean, with Tully hair like Lady Catelyn and eyes of the Riverlands; Jon appeared through and through his father, Lord Eddard, with his dark hair and grey eyes, a build more broad that wasn't unhandsome either, just different. Each boy held two snowballs, and seemed to be waiting for an answer.

Dany looked to Bran who shrugged slightly. She blinked slowly, her secret code to Bran that meant 'yes' but could also mean - in times such as these - 'ambush them'. To Robb and Jon she rose and stepped in front of Bran, to hide him from view as he subtly build more snowballs. "That depends, are you going to fight fair, or dirty?"

"What do you mean by fair,  _Lady_  Daenerys?" Robb asked in a teasing voice. He smiled at her warmly, a smile that could melt the coldest hearts in all of Westeros she believed.

"I mean fair as in gentlemen like," she folded her arms behind her back, palm up. Bran was close enough that he could reach forward and deposit a snowball without being seen. "It wouldn't be fair if the ladies weren't given the upper hand. We're not destined for any greatness in war, you know."

Jon cast a glance at Bran. How much he saw of his half-brother Dany was uncertain, but if he saw anything, he said nothing of it. Robb nodded, looking directly at her throughout the duration of the exchange. "I shall grant the ladies a moment to craft your weapons, on the condition that Bran then join Jon and I as he is no lady."

"A hostage?" Dany said with a mock incredulous expression, voice to match. "You dare suggest I give you my wonderful Bran in exchange for a moment to craft weapons! How dare you," and she threw the snowball with a sharp flick of her wrist.

It landed square on Robb's chest. He stared at her, dumbfounded for an instant before regaining composure and tossing snowballs in return. By then Jon had stopped smirking and was helping his half-brother; Arya and Sansa had taken Bran's cue and had made more snowballs for themselves. While the four of them initially drew back into the trees, there was strategy to it. By the time the four of them had a plethora of snowballs all the snow surrounding them was gone, and the two older boys were losing ground and were without resources.

Arya landed a snowball on the side of Robb's head, another on Jon's lower back. Sansa hit four for every six she tossed, all of them hitting Jon who was closer; Bran assaulted Robb and Jon both, before turning on Dany who stood not four feet from him declaring, "I'm no lady, I'm a knight!" The snow splattered along her chest and neck.

Dany called back laughing that knights are supposed to protect fair ladies; Sansa matching her word for word in perfect time. Arya laughed when they realized what had happened and all three of the girls received a snowball somewhere. An hour must have passed when Arya ran out of snowballs and fresh snow within reach, and decided to tackle Jon.

"Sansa grab Bran!" Arya called, struggling to keep Jon down. Dany could see the pretend in his own struggles to rise. Sansa did, scooping her younger brother off the ground with the same swiftness a dancer twirls his lady partner. They both landed in a snow drift giggling, laying in the snow to play dead.

Dany, head to toe with snow, gave a dramatic voice, "Oh Robb, our armies have fallen. What say you on the course of action?"

Robb made as if to think on the matter at hand, regal and mature despite his years and the remnants of battle that clung to him fiercely. "I say we raise our dead and raid the kitchens as a united front."

"Yes! For sweets!" Bran said, shooting into a seated position and scrambling to his feet before offering Sansa a small hand. Ever a gentlemen, Dany thought. _He'll make a brilliant knight_.

Jon mock-growled and hoisted Arya, who yelped in shock (she had been sitting on his chest, victorious), off the ground as he rose from the snow. "I will never yield!" Arya declared, regardless of the fact that Jon refused to set her down. Instead he held her like a swine under his arm. Both waited on the conclusion of the peace negotiations.

"Deal," Dany said, extending a gloved hand. Robb glanced at his last snowball before crushing it and taking her hand in alliance. He dropped her hand after a quick moment and the group of Stark children and wards made for the side doors to the kitchens. Sansa made to brush snow from Arya's hair, but her sister escaped her; she resolved to brush herself down instead. Dany helped her, clearing out the bits left in the hood of her cloak. The older boys brushed themselves off too, but Bran merely shook out his hair and hurried onward.

At least the kitchens won't become such a puddle, Lady Catelyn mused from her place on the covered bridge as her children and the other's cut through the practice yard.  _No, my children, end._ She tried her utmost best to refer to all of the youth as her children but in truth it was difficult. The lie was too personal. Of the seven only five were of her womb. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Proper Stark children. Not Jon Snow or Daenerys Targaryen. Jon Snow was Ned's bastard born from the war and his time in the south; Daenerys was princess by birth and queen by rights of succession, but not one of her princesses.

Catelyn attempted to push the thoughts from her mind, but they were there all the same. The wet nurse, sodden and sickly with a violet eyed babe had been escorted into the great hall of Winterfell days before the return of Ned. Catelyn was no fool to believe otherwise when the leader of the armed men declared the babe a Targaryen. Yet they had asked her to welcome the girl as a ward, to protect her as Catelyn would protect her own babe and Catelyn had not had courage enough to say no.  _She was only a babe, not half a year, younger than Robb._ Catelyn remembered well, how she had taken Daenerys in her arms for the first time. The wet nurse had been sent away to be healed, but she had died within the day. She remembered how Robb had sat on her lap, confused by the intruder. He had reached out and squeezed Daenerys' hand too hard, and made her cry.  _I had scowled him for it. His own mother who had been his alone for all his breaths, scowled at the second a younger model came into my arms._ Oft she wondered if she had made the right choice, if she had done well by Robb when she had taken in the Targaryen princess.

Then came Jon Snow, the reason for Ned's delay and for her worry. There were nights when Catelyn had laid abed with Robb and wondered if she would see her husband again. Ned, who loved her out of duty, not love. Not then. Still she had loved him, had birthed forth his child. Yes, Daenerys would need to be explained, but Catelyn saw the girl as an advantage to have. Of that she had convinced herself. Jon Snow was not an advantage.

Ned had left his men to enter the great hall without him to feast, and stole away to the Lord's door behind the dais to sweep her away front he crowds. The babe with his black hair was nestled in the crook of his arm. "The wet nurse is a southron girl. My men will escort her safely to her home."

Catelyn had gave him a truly incredulous expression, arms crossed. "And what of the babe?"

"Jon Snow," Ned had said by way of answer. No explanation, no story or lie, no apology. Just that retched name.

She had wanted to slap him for all the good it would do to change the proof she saw before her. How could he betray her like that, a man of honour in what tongue?  _And to raise the bastard no less, under mine own roof._  But when Catelyn opened her mouth to emphasize her disappointment and the humiliation she could expect, the babes began to wail. Both of them, and the fact was evident. Robb's wailing were hearty, a healthy boy's cries, but coupled with his were the more delicate whimpering sobs of Daenerys. 

Only Ned had not known of Daenerys.

A guard had told him of Robb, his heir, when he and his men arrived, but there had been no word of Daenerys. Catelyn had made all those in the hall when Daenerys had been accepted under the Stark's protection swear to secrecy until she had told Ned herself upon his arrival.

The wailing brought forth a wet nurse who watched the babes only when Catelyn was called to make appearances. "Lady Catelyn, Lord Stark, the babes are wanting to eat as well. Beg your pardon, interrupting."

"You are dismissed," Catelyn told the girl with all the calm she could gather. She had found in that moment that she could not look Ned in the eye as she turned and led him to the chamber in which the babes were cared for, close enough to the great hall that Catelyn could be easily sought, far enough that noise would not wake them easily.

Robb she had picked up first, a sturdy boy of ten months, and cradled him on her hip, rocking slowly as she walked to Daenerys. The motions soothed him, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck. Daenerys she brought out of the cradle with one expert hand, as though she had been a mother for a decade and not less than a year, and rested her against her breast.

"Daenerys Targaryen," she had said, by way of answer, just as he had. If he could shame her by returning with a bastard, than she could play her hand neatly as well.

Ned's stone exterior looked about to crumble. When he spoke, his voice was whispers. "What of the boy?"

"Robb Stark, first born son of Lord Eddard Stark, heir to Winterfell."

Her own voice quivered when she said it, but a certain degree of relief washed over her warm as Riverland rains when Ned placed Jon Snow in the empty cradle and took Robb from her hip to hold both tight and gently to his chest. Robb gasped in surprise but quickly found a comfortable position and nuzzled against his father. "Catelyn," was all he could say. He stepped closer to her, drawing her in as his forehead rested on hers. He had breathed deeply, and when the air left him his shoulders relaxed too.  _Like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders._  "I missed you more than singers could sing of. I love you, my lady."

"I love you, my lord." Catelyn responded, smiling as a pair of tears rolled down her cheeks. Robb and Daenerys had been between them as they embraced, but it made no difference. He loved her, truly and forever, he loved her.

"Lady Stark, Lord Eddard would like to speak with you in the solar." The man brought her from her memories abruptly. "He wishes to discuss with you the arrangements for the royal visit prior to his hunt."

Lady Catelyn put on a smile, and gave a proper, lady-like nod. He departed her company when she made for the solar and he for the lower levels of the castle. In the solar she found her husband. He was seated in a chair, musing over maps and charts, nothing that appeared at first glance to have anything to do with a royal visit. "Ned, you wished to see me?"

"Cat," he smiled and rose to greet her with a kiss on her hand, as if they had just been introduced to each other. "I want to discuss what it is we shall arrange for Daenerys whilst Robert is in Winterfell."

"Arrangements?"

As ever Ned went right to the meat of discussion. "His is a fierce hatred for the Targaryen House. It is one thing for him to be likely aware of her being fostered at Winterfell, but I fear no good would come from having her in the great hall for his welcome feast. Nor do I fear Queen Cersei would relish in the sight of her."

Catelyn nodded her understanding. "Why though do you feel need to include me? I ask only as I am unfamiliar with the safest places to stash a child for half a fortnight."

Her joke was not lost on her husband, nor was the factual truth. He laughed heartily before saying, "She is your ward, as Jon is my own. I know you don't see Jon as equal to Dany, but you brought her to Winterfell as I brought him. I want for you to be involved in her arrangements because I place value in your ideas and comments."

Hearing him say so made her heart flutter. "Thank you Ned. I appreciate the inclusion." She would do right by these wards of theirs. She only prayed the Seven and the old gods would aid her judgements.


	2. Departure of A Kind of Sister

**Departure of A Kind of Sister**

"It's hardly fair that Dany be sent off when Jon gets to stay for the feast! Everyone knows she's a Targaryen, what difference does it make?" Sansa exclaimed when she learned of the plan for Daenerys to be sent to live with a family in a holdfast half a day's ride north of Winterfell. Lady, her direwolf, had accompanied her and had chosen to lay at the foot of her lady mother's bed. She stirred when Sansa rose in her frustration.

Catelyn was preparing a last few items for Dany to take with her, and had been surprised by Sansa's outburst. "That's no tone to take with me. You are a lady, Sansa, and will speak as such."

Sansa closed her eyes to still her anger before facing her mother and saying more calmly, "Why does the bastard stay and the princess leave?"

Catelyn stared at her daughter,  _her_  first princess. Even if Sansa might never sit with a crown upon her red hair she would forever be Catelyn's proper princess.  _How she's grown in such short years._ "Bastards are everywhere in Westeros. Just because Jon stays does not mean he will attend the feast with us. Queen Cersei would be furious at the slight. Contrastly, Daenerys is being sent away to starve the possibility of a second war breaking out in our castle's courtyard. She will come back Sansa, I swear to you."  _And refrain from naming Daenerys as princess in the company of Queen Cersei._

Her daughter stared at her, trying to find any lie in what she had heard. Her searching came up empty and she gave a small nod of understanding. "It won't be the same without her, the feast. I had hoped to have a proper lady to converse with. Arya is downright dreadful."

Catelyn smiled sadly, "We shall make a lady of her soon, whether she likes the notion or otherwise. Go now sweetling, bid Daenerys farewell before she takes leave of us." She handed over a bundle of fabric, which Sansa took carefully. She then dipped in her curtsey and left her parents bedchamber, striding with proper grace down to the stables, Lady at her heels.

[]

Dany was standing in the yard loosing arrows with the boys. Robb stood to her left, Jon to his left, and Bran fell near two heads shorter than her on her right. While his older brothers hit the target every time, Bran could hardly keep his three for seven odds, and that didn't mean the target exclusively. Anywhere on the straw and canvas seemed to satisfy him more than an outright miss.

When Dany's own arrow flew straight and tall, burying itself at the top of the outermost target ring, she crouched down to Bran's height to instruct him. "Speed comes after accuracy, Bran."

"Robb and Jon can move fast and hit the target." He insisted, drawing another arrow.

She put a hand on the arrow shaft to stop him. "Yes, yet before your first breath, I had the pleasure of seeing them miss a hundred arrows every day. They were slower than I and retched at hitting the targets. Your lord father taught them that there is no shame is starting slow, so long as every arrow you loose falls on your goal."

Bran considered all she had told him, glancing up at Robb as though he scarcely believed his brother was not born an amazing archer. Robb, having been listening to Dany's lyrical story, nodded at his younger brother to confirm it, notching an arrow as he did. In a feeble final attempt, Bran told Dany knowingly, "Knights don't move slow. They can't, or good people get hurt."

"Aye, but a knight who can pierce the skin of every enemy he sets aim for is more a knight than he whose focus is chancing arrows." Dany smiled encouragingly. "Watch Robb a moment. See how his arrow is always center on the bow?"

Bran glanced up at his brother who had paused in position so he could see what Dany was referring to. Bran notched the arrow like he had been all along and compared. He couldn't see the error until he hefted the bow up some; then he realized his arrows were angled too high, so he corrected. "Like this?"

Robb nodded; Dany spoke. "Yes, and now your bow is held proper too. Draw slowly so that the arrow stays still in the center, as Robb does, and hold it tight." Bran did, a beat of time behind Robb's actions. "Now spy where you wish the arrow to land and direct your whole body toward it."

"Relax your bow arm," Robb told him.

Dany raised her eyes to thank him for the correction. "When you think you have it, loose."

Bran stared at the target, the red center circle that he had never before hit. He wanted it so bad!  _Calm like a knight, spy the enemy, angle, loose -_

"Bran! You did it!" Robb exclaimed, loosing his arrow before clapping Bran on the back with pride. Jon was grinning and Dany had her hands on his shoulders, hugging him from behind. All Bran could see was his arrow sticking out of the red circle, his jaw slack in amazement and disbelief.

"I did it? That's my arrow! Robb did you see? I loosed that one, I did!" Bran grinned and ran to the target, unsticking his arrow and, holding the spear end, raced back to them, pausing only long enough to say, "I have to show Father and tell him. Thank you Dany. Thanks Robb," before hurrying off.

Dany swelled with pride, smiling uncontrollably. It was all she could do not to jump and give a little squeal of excitement over Bran's accomplishment. Robb's hand came to rest on her shoulder to gain her attention. "You were kind to help my brother."

"After so many misses, a center target arrow will boost his confidence. He'll be outshooting the both of you in no time at all."

They laughed; Robb said, "You seem so sure of this."

Dany shrugged softly, "Bran will make a valiant knight. Just be sure to slow and let him see how you shoot if you note he's missed a whole quiver. I have high faith in his talents."

Robb smiled, his eyes flickering to a rock on the ground and back to her. He said teasingly though honest, "Aye, for you milady, I shall."

"Dany, mother has these last items for your travels." Sansa said when she approached the three of them. Lady trotted over to Grey Wind and licked his nose before sitting and waiting. Sansa looked gorgeous, all awash in the Stark colours with her auburn hair. It was for the royal arrival, which had been forecasted to the latter portion of the day, yet somehow Dany felt as though Sansa made a secret hobby of dressing up in her private bedchamber.

"Have I ever complimented you on how beautiful a woman you are becoming Sansa?" Dany asked; Sansa blushed deeply, and curtseyed. "Come, I didn't mean to embarrass you. My apologies."

"No, not at all. I am honoured that you have said so. Truly,"

One of the stable hands came toward them then, dirty with a days work but comely and sweet voiced, "Lady Sansa, Lord Robb," he greeted Sansa and Robb politely before addressing Dany, "Lady Daenerys, Lord Eddard would have you off within the hour to offset potential conflict. I am to show you to your horse and guards."

Dany nodded and bid he give her a moment to say goodbye. Sansa curled her arms around Dany before she was properly turned back to face her. "Oh I'll miss you terribly," she said, fighting off a sob in her throat. She handed Dany the bundle of fabric, offered forth a small sad smile, and retreated toward the castle with Lady on her heels.

Robb and Jon stood before her; she wished to hug them both at once, her milk brothers and pretend knights, her companions since first she understood what it meant to have friends. Robb motioned for Jon to embrace her first, and he did. His black-brown curls tickled her nose, and the warmth of his bare hands seeped through the back of her cloak. "Be safe, we'll see you quicker than we know."

When Jon backed up Robb stepped forward. Heir to Winterfell, ever a gentlemen, a man who knew how to carry himself in whatever company he might hold. Yet with her, he broke into a grin and scooped her clean from the ground in a single motion, skirts and all. "Enough sadness,  _Lady_  Daenerys. This is an adventure. You'll be fine as we will be fine. Just be sure you remember us on occasion whilst you're off having no royal-visit-esque responsibilities."

She couldn't help but to laugh as he finally returned her to the ground. A whispering snow had begun to fall but it wouldn't hold, not that day. "Perhaps I shan't return from my adventure if I can expect to be called  _Lady_  upon my return."

He chuckled, his cheeks pink with cold and exertion. Dany extended an arm for Jon and drew him into the hug with Robb, her in the middle. "You both best behave whilst I'm gone or Arya will see to it you suffer. She's my accomplice." With a smile she kissed them both upon the cheek and made for the stables, not daring to glance over her shoulder for fear that tears might take her. She would be back, within half a fortnight. Nothing could make her stay away longer.

Jon and Robb watched her until she was gone from their sight, a Snow and a Stark. When the last of her pale hair was vanished, Robb picked his quiver from the ground and made for the armoury, hoping there was time enough for some practice before the royal family and their company arrived. Perhaps it would quell the feelings of loss he had accumulated in the minutes since Daenerys had departed.

Jon remained at the archery post. He stayed still a long while, lost in thought. Then, as if instructed, he loosed every arrow he had into the target before gathering them and starting again.

[]

Arya was in the stables helping Daenerys pack away the bundle of fabric before she mounted the horse. "I told your brothers they best behave, and that you are my accomplice and therefore will dole out punishment as seen fit. It should keep them in line until I return."

Arya laughed heartily, climbing onto a stall railing so she could give Dany a proper hug. "It sucks you can't stay. I hope wherever you're going isn't painful boring.

"Well anywhere you are not will be a trifle less exciting then I'm accustomed."

"Lady Daenerys,"

Dany directed her horse from the stables at the announcement of her guards arrival. They were two of Lord Eddard's most loyal men. Both sat broad and armoured on their horses, with the commonplace appearance of northmen: dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, with strong hands and thick legs. The older one was Ser Ywencik, and his grey peppered beard was full and commanding, covering the worst of his pox scars. The younger one, Kyle Dartree, wasn't a knight, Dany knew, but he commanded himself as one all the same.

"Sers," she greeted them each with a nod, "I trust Lord Stark has informed you thusly of my arrangements?"

Ser Ywencik gave a firm nod, "Aye, with orders not to discuss a word of it within Winterfell."

Dany smiled, pleased with them already. She glanced back at Arya instinctively, as was her way when in the stables. The younger Stark girl was saddened but fought to keep the bulk of it from her face. There was no doubt in Dany's mind that Arya would put up a fight when Lady Catelyn came to make her proper for the royal arrival.

With a gesture that signalled she was ready to leave, she fell in line with her two guards and left Winterfell.

 


	3. Arrival of a King and his Court

**Arrival of a King and his Court**

In the later hours of the afternoon Bran came running toward his lady mother. "I saw them Mother, the Baratheon and the Lannister sigils."

He was out of breath and sweaty, Catelyn remarked.  _Can boys not maintain a state of cleanness even for an hour?_ "Where you climbing again? You know how I feel about that Bran."

"I know, Mother, but I never fall and I'm real careful since you told me what might happen. I am," Bran insisted, then added on a completely opposite tangent, "Did Father tell you I shot a center target arrow this morning? Robb and Dany showed me and I loosed it all on my own!"

It made Lady Catelyn proud of her son to hear of the accomplishment, and a little guilty that she was glad it had been highborn Daenerys and not Jon Snow who had led him to the success. "That is truly brilliant. I'm so proud of you." She smiled lovingly at her son. "Come now, you must bath quickly before their arrival or the Queen will think us Starks a disrespectful House."

"Is Robb going to bath too? He's been practicing swords in the yard with a squire and I've only been climbing."

"Both of you shall bath." Catelyn despaired to imagine her eldest son making an appearance before the King and Queen of the realm, covered in sweat and earth. "Come now."

However, when they entered the bath chamber a serving girl informed then that Lord Robb had already been and gone. It was a relief to hear, and she thanked the girl for the news before leaving Bran to be washed and dressed.

[]

"Why though Robb?" Rickon asked in a whining voice. Robb had dressed himself in the Stark colours, grey on white with a lighter cloak trimmed with fur. He was attempting to make Rickon equally presentable to please their lady mother but the task was proving difficult.

"Because if we don't look good then we won't be allowed to play at swords for a whole month once the royals take their leave." Robb told him as he pulled a doublet over his brother's arms. He shouldn't even be the one to dress the boy, Lyletta had made a point of saying. Though she was increasingly right with every article of clothing Robb had to don on Rickon, he felt it was important to speak with his brother before the arrival of their visitors. He needed to know what was expected of him, even though he was only five.

Rickon looked shocked that such a punishment could ever be allowed to occur. It had the desired effect of making him more complacent with the dressing situation.

"Why is Dany gone?"

Robb paused, a boot in hand. Rickon sat on a chest in front of him, waiting for an answer to satisfy the question, socked heel resting on Robb's knee. What could he tell his brother, who surely must be somewhat saddened to see Dany go. Though not as sad as the rest of the Starks, nor Jon. He was, in truth, too young to fully understand. After a moment he resumed fitting the boot on his youngest brother's foot and told him, "Dany felt ill, so Father and Mother set her to see a maester."

"We have maester Luwin," Rickon reflected.

"Aye, so we do, but he is of Winterfell. For this sickness Dany needed a maester that could help her with Targaryen healing practices."

Rickon tilted his head back as Robb fastened a light cloak at his neck. It made his voice sound amusing. "Which maester does that?"

"Maester Aemon, of the Nights Watch."

His youngest brother stared at him with wide, amazed eyes. "Dany gets to see the Wall? That is in my dreams Robb!" the boy exclaimed, spinning in a circle for his brother's inspection.

Robb chuckled, taking his brother's hand to lead him to the yard where they would greet the royals. As they descended the stairs Robb said, "Is it? Well perhaps I shall speak with Father. Might be I can arrange for us to pay a visit to the Wall of your dreams."

Rickon skip-stepped in delight. "You're a good older brother Robb."

[][]

The feast was well underway. The guests were drinking and eating their fill of meat and mead, with singers who had journeyed the kings road with the royal procession singing lavish songs for the drunken men to sway to and sing off key and awful. Lady Catelyn had sent Rickon and Bran off to bed an hour past and Arya, who had initially been seated next to Sansa, had gone and caused an incident with some olives and gotten herself retired to her bedchamber as well. So far as Catelyn knew, neither King Robert nor Queen Cersei had asked after their silver-haired ward. It was a thought that put her mind to ease.

Lord Eddard Stark sat next to his wife, beside King Robert, the pair of which had not been separated since first King Robert came down from his horse. Ned had taken him to the crypts as he was bid to do, and the conversation still troubled him some.

"Sansa is too young."

"Aye but by the time your northern mind makes the right decision she'll have flowered with time to waste." Robert declared as they walked the long hall to come to rest before the statue whose likeness bore that of Lyanna's in life. The king fell silent then, as he paid his respects to the woman he had loved and lost in such quick succession. For Robert's sake, or perhaps Lyanna's, Ned would not tell it true, though he wished it could be another way.

Instead he nodded of the comment put forth by his long time friend and now king, and said, "Then perhaps I will agree to the marriage proposal. Joffery and Sansa will make a strong marriage."

"As Lyanna and I were wont to do." Ned had put a hand on his friend's shoulder, and they left the crypts of Winterfell for the sunlight and life above.

Catelyn, who had been made aware of the accepted marriage proposal, rose from her seat to seek the company of Queen Cersei in the latter portion of the feast. She asked if she could take a seat beside her, an unfamiliar question to pose in her own great hall. Cersei glanced at her and appeared relieved.

"I feared you to be another serving girl with food for me to taste. Beg your pardon, Lady Stark, but I am so full I couldn't try another bite."

Catelyn smiled, seating herself and waving the comment on, "It's no bother, I am in agreement with you. Feasts are not something I indulge in often, yet even so I eat as though I am breaking my fast with but my family."

Queen Cersei laughed, "I must say I admire such honesty. Winterfell is more lovely than I first imagined when King Robert proposed we pay homage. The North is not a place I can say I have ever dreamed to visit. Riverrun was the furtherest I had dared take the kingsroad at one point. Yet here I sit, the top of the world."

"Top o' the world!" King Robert exclaimed, drunk with wine and mead. "No woman stands the top of the world - It's infested with crows and too freezing for such delicate creatures!" He choked forth a laugh, clapping Ned on the back and resuming their conversation.

The Queen looked very cross at the embarrassment he caused her, but she blinked it away and pulled on a smile for Catelyn. "I do apologize for the error," but her voice was forced and less friendly.

"No, please, you Grace, I believed much the same thing when first I came to Winterfell. It was my lord husband who corrected me also."

"Yet not before a hall of guests during a feast," Cersei said, venomously.

Catelyn nodded, as she had little other choice. "To be sure. Please, do not despair in the words of men deep into their cups." When the Queen said no more on the matter, Catelyn tried, "Lord Eddard has told me of King Robert's desire to marry Prince Joffrey to my Sansa. Where you made aware?"

Cersei gave Catelyn a look she couldn't quite read, but it dissolved into an expression of delight. "A wedding? You must have accepted, surely?"

"Of course, your Grace,"

"Oh wonderful. Your daughter Sansa is the one whose hair is Tully as your own? Beautiful ... She will thrive in the southern lands and King's Landing will be graced by her presence."

Catelyn was flattered, colour rising to her cheeks in such joy and pride. She was glad for the Queen's happiness to have been restored after the King's slight. "Many thanks, your Grace."

"Indeed, we shall begin our official plans the day of her flowering. It shall occur within a year of the date. You'll help me with the planning, certainly."

"Well we can't well have men planning weddings now can we?" Both women laughed, talk of wedding plans and guests and desserts swirling around them with laughter. All the while Cersei was uninterested and bored.

[]

Outside by the light of a lantern Jon beat a sword against the wood of a dummy. He wondered if Dany had arrived safely wherever it was she had been sent to. He wondered if anyone besides the Queen and Lady Catelyn would care if he joined the feast, if for only a few moments. He wondered if he might be able to convince his father, Lord Stark, to grant him leave for the Wall.

"Is he dead yet?" Jon let the sword fall to his side and turned at the sound of Robb's voice. His half-brother was standing a few yards off, a lantern in hand and food in the other. "I'd have brought ale as well, but I only had two hands. I thought perhaps a meal might treat an empty stomach better than a pint."

"You didn't have to."

Robb shrugged, "No, but that doesn't mean I couldn't, and clearly, I have. Royals or no, I'm accustomed to dining with all of my family, which includes a Snow as I recall."

Jon smiled, looking at his feet before sheathing the sword and meeting his half-brother's eyes again. They walked until they came to an empty stall and lifted themselves up to sit. Jon hung the lantern on the hook next to him and Robb handed over his plate of food. It was covered by a second plate, as was Robb's, to keep the warmth in. Underneath, the food let off heat when Jon uncovered it to take a first bite.

"Thanks, Robb." He said, biting off a chunk of black sausage.

Robb bobbed his head slightly, chewing on a bit of bread. When he swallowed he offered, "Half-brother still says 'brother' in the title. By that fact I consider you part of the family, as I said."

Jon smiled at Robb, looking to his plate and over the yard. Robb was good about refraining from naming him a bastard in earshot, and, Jon dared to believe, in any situation that didn't demand him to do so. He appreciated it, because he knew how much Sansa had grown to use the term since she learned what it meant. Jon could only hope that Bran and Rickon would grow to be much like their older brother and father. There was no fear for Arya turning on him the way Sansa had. She knew well enough what 'bastard' meant too, but she also liked Jon more, where Sansa solely focused on and idolized Daenerys.

"Do you think she's made it safely to wherever Lord and Lady Stark sent her?" Jon asked.

Robb did not need clarification. He considered the question a moment, all the makings of a lord in his face and posture. "I do. I think she has arrived, and that wherever it is, she has made the people there very happy to have her in their midst." Jon nodded and they ate together in a still silence for a couple moments more. Then Robb asked, "Do you miss her?"

Jon had to chuckle, though the sound had more air than laugh to it. "Yeah, how could I not? She's practically been our sister our whole lives."

"Yes, a kind of sister," Robb said, a strangely thought-provoked partial smile on his lips as he looked to his food.

Jon remembered how, when they were young and first he heard the term bastard, he believed that Dany must be one as well. Surely she had to a bastard, with her silver hair and violet eyes, if Jon could look so like a Stark yet be a Snow. There wasn't a way she could be of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard. He remembered how he had asked his lord father for the truth. There was a ind of sadness that rang in Father's eyes when he told Jon that Dany was a highborn lady of a different House, and that she must never be called bastard. It was a memory Jon could not forget if he tried.

"Don't you?"

"More than I expected I would." Robb sighed, his shoulders falling slack for a while. Jon wanted to ask after how Robb meant that, but he didn't. Half-brothers can share meat and mead and tales, but there were things that were best kept secret as well. When they were finished Robb gathered the four plates and stood, stretching. They had spoken of trivial matters - the royal arrival, the guests, how Prince Joffrey made them want to strike his insolent smirk clear from his face - and nothing more of Dany.

They entertained the idea of practicing swords for an hour, but decided better of it. Lady Catelyn would not be pleased at all should she find them at it, nor would the master-at-arms be keen on being informed on Robb being reckless and practicing in the dark. And though neither boy said it, the truth lingered close that it would be Jon who took the brunt of the blame, simply for being a bastard.

 


	4. A Dragon for a Guest

**A Dragon for a Guest**

Dany arrived at the house of Lord and Lady Stark's choosing an hour before nightfall. Ser Ywencik and Dartree escorted her through the tiny village to the last home before the land stretched into farmer's fields once again. Children gazed at the knights as their horses carried them past, and parents ushered them out of the way, staring as well.

"What village is this, good ser?" Dany asked softly.

"Everset, Lady Yvetta," Ser Ywencik replied, using the name Lady Catelyn had decided upon. The fewer people who knew of her true identify outside of Winter Town the better chance of avoiding stirring King Robert's wrath. The village was quaint and quiet, only a couple dozen houses large. When Ser Ywencik came to a halt, Dartree dismounted and offered his hand to her.

As Dany dismounted the door to the home opened and a young man came forth. He was tall as she was and handsome, with field hands and a square jaw. When he spoke his voice deep and reminded her much of a young man she had left in Winterfell. "It would be my honour to help my lady with her things."

"If it please you, though I am no stranger to lifting." Dany replied, drawing a smile from the man who began unpacking her horse of what sparse packages she had needed.

An older woman stood in the doorframe, her hair more grey than cinnamon and eyes like those of the young man, suggesting that he was her son. She walked toward Dany as her son brought all but one of her bags into the house, vanishing. "Would my lady's guards be departing on the morrow? If so I have rooms prepared so that they might find comfort under my roof."

Ser Ywencik answered her, "We have need to be a Winterfell on the morrow and must travel by light of the moon. Many apologies for the slight we have given you."

"No apologies needed, good ser. The labour was mine to prepare and I regret it not." She gave both guards a stiff curtsey, not in a manner that suggested her unkind but in one that signalled to an injury of sorts. Once the guards had taken their leave, and Dany held her remaining bag, the son led her horse round to a stable.

She asked her host as they walked to the door, "Are you all right my lady?"

"An old injury from my youth. Fear not, and I beg you do not call me 'lady' as I have no claim to the title. My proper name is Brigitte, and my son, who failed to introduce himself, is William." Brigitte smiled lovingly when she spoke her son's name. It warmed Dany's heart.

"I am Lady Yvetta, though titles have no place in a home where the host refuses the title herself."

"Nonsense, you are a lady by rights of birth. Lord and Lady Stark made me aware."

"By rights you are a lady as well. Any woman might be a lady, should she choose to carry herself with the dignity of one. I believe you qualify for the title, level of birth or no. Any woman so willing to offer help to me in a time of need is wont to wear a proper title, Lady Brigitte."

Brigitte smiled, looking down to her feet as she blushed with embarrassment. "They did not warn me how kind you were, Lady Yvetta. Come, I shall fix you a meal."

Dany followed Brigitte into her kitchen, realizing at once how small of a place she had truly come to. It was only ten short steps to the kitchen from the door, and the kitchen seemed hardly twelve steps across. In Winterfell this might be termed a closet, though for whom Dany had scarcely an idea. "Is William going to join us?"

Brigitte shock her head. "Heavens no dear. The fields need tending to, more now that there's only one set of hands to work. He'll be in later, and eat then."

Dany felt saddened by the answer. Such a kindhearted woman like Brigitte should not have to eat alone whilst her only son toiled away in a field. Even if she would not dine alone on all the nights that Dany was under her protection, she would dine all the nights to follow her departure, as she had prior to her arrival.

"Beg your pardon, but might I be excused to my chamber for a while before dining?"

Brigitte nodded, "Of course dear. Young thing like you has probably had quite enough adventure for one day. Go, rest, I'll summon you once the beast is flamed."

Dany thanked her, curtseyed and took leave. She took the narrow steps to the room with her bags and sat on the straw filled bed. She was exhausted, but she would not rest. Not so long as Brigitte ate alone and her son laboured endlessly. She removed her cloak and dress, donning something more simple that and been made especially for her time from Winterfell. It was thick, heavy cotton and twine, to help her blend with the other women of Everset, though her hair was a give away, so Dany maintained. Then she pulled on her thick soled boots and tied a scarf around her neck and hair, and slipped downstairs again.

Brigitte was singing softly as Dany slipped from the house and outside. Around back she found her horse in a small, makeshift stable that appeared to have been built not two weeks prior. Further on was a slightly larger barn; some chickens clucked about the ground. The door was ajar, and Dany set for it, certain she would find him inside.

As expected, William was inside, mucking the stalls of swine and sheep. "Lady Yvetta?" He asked when he saw her, wiping sweat from his brow and leaning against his pitchfork.

Dany curtseyed before reminding herself that she mustn't make use of such habits in Everset. "I beg your pardon, interrupting, but I wish to aid you in your work so that you might share a meal with your lady mother and I."

"My lady mother?" William shook his head, confusing Dany.

"Is she not your mother?"

"Certainly, but I've not once heard her addressed as 'lady,' beggin' your pardons."

"Oh," Dany said meekly.

William smiled at her, "Nah it's all right. I respect the offer, my lady, but there's no need for you to muck stalls. I'm on well enough."

"Please, I insist. As a guest in another castle, surely I wouldn't offer, but here I feel the need to work. I won't have it know that I am a leech on the hard working small folk of the north."

"No, my lady, you shouldn't," but Dany had already marched over and taken up an extra pitchfork. It was heavy in her hand, like the first time she held a longsword. Yet it felt lighter as she walked toward him. "You're goin' to smell like the barn and Mother won't let me hear the end to it."

"Come now, when she realizes you're eating the beast she's flaming in the chair beside her she won't care for the state of my clothes. I'm some highborn lady, but you're her son and obviously more important to her." William gave her a long hard stare, trying to figure out the joke in all this. Perhaps he only heard tale of ladies in silks and jewels who ne'er lifted a finger to honest work, but those were southron girls. Even Sansa and Arya helped the serving staff from time to time, though this was a story they'd scarce believe when she spoke of it.

Finally he nodded his approval. Dany tied back her hair with the scarf and pulled her skirts up some to shorten them with the twine belt. "What do I have to do?"

[][]

The time was nearly up for the royals to return to the south. Sansa would be going with them, and Lady Catelyn as well, to prepare and educate her on the graces of necessary of a bride and of a lady. Arya had been intended to join them along with some of their household guard, but the younger Stark girl had outright refused.

"I'll not go to the south, I won't!" she shouted, racing off to her bedchamber before thinking about how her lady mother would look there fore her first and changing course. Jon liked her best some days, and even though she wanted a sister to talk to Jon would have to do, seeing as Sansa was always against her.

Pounding on his door, she waited with great impatience for him to answer. When it took longer than ten seconds she began to open it, only to have the door swing inward by his hand as well. Jon rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, yawning. "Arya?"

"Can I come in?" Arya asked, walking inside.

Jon nodded and shrugged, having expected she would do no less. "What's on your mind that you've woken half the castle?" He strode over to his clothes and started dressing.

"You heard me yelling?"

He lifted his eyebrows at her, "You were yelling? I meant the pounding on the door. You've woken both Robb and I, for certain."

"Why are you not up already? Sansa and I broke our fast an hour ago with our mother."

"We're not up already because  _we_  are not the ones going down to King's Landing. Now cough up why you're here or I'll tickle you until you do." Jon smiled and Arya knew he would do exactly that if she didn't tell him why she'd come to his bedchamber. She was not in the mood for being tickled, even if it would probably cheer her up.

With a sigh she fell backward onto his bed dramatically and said, "They are going to take me away from Winterfell to stupid King's Landing. I don't have any friends in King's Landing, and there won't be you or Robb or Bran or Dany or even Rickon. It will be me and dumb lady-like Sansa who's so perfect at being a dumb lady. And Mother, who will want to turn me into a dumb lady because there will be dumb ladies everywhere in the south."

Jon had no idea how to relate to her in that instant, but he offered, "Would it make you feel better if I went instead? I've got near as much hair as you, they could make me into a lady easy."

That made Arya laugh, her hands on her stomach. "You couldn't be a lady, you're not frail enough. And besides, 'a proper lady does not play at swords' which you do all the time."

"You play at swords? Don't you think that's a bit childish?"

"Oh not you Jon-"

"Ah, ah, I wasn't finished. Playing at swords is childish, but practicing with a real one will at least earn you skill while you defy your lady mother." As he spoke he rummaged through a chest and withdrew from it a sheathed blade. The sight of such a prize in his hands made Arya sit up straight and proper as Lady Catelyn could never make her without Arya first complaining. "It's not a proper longsword, but it's more than a dagger. I asked the blacksmith to craft it for you so I could give it to you before you were off. Seeing as you were upset, I figured this might cheer you up some."

Arya stared at him in amazement. There was no way he was serious about this but she knew she was and that made the whole moment even more amazing. "You are the best Jon!" She took it from him by the hilt as she had always seen Robb and Jon do when they used tourney swords and unsheathed it. The steel caught the morning light and was bright in her eye but nothing could upset her.

"Now you know how to use it?"

"Stick 'em with the pointy end." Arya grinned, sheathing the blade again. "I'm going to name it Needle. I can name it even if it isn't a great sword, can't I?"

Jon mussed her hair and smiled, "A blade without a name is a man without honour, untrustworthy in any situation."

Arya hugged him around the middle, sword clutched in one hand. "I'll miss you most I think."

"I'll miss you all," Jon replied as Arya hurried off, sword held tight to her chest to starve off any potential thieves. If only she knew that he meant everyone, not just those ready to go south.

[][]

It was the eve of the royal departure from Winterfell for King's Landing, and a farewell to the ladies of Ned's life when the doors of the great hall were thrust inward with a sudden fury. Lord and Lady Stark rose abruptly as their guards at the rear of the hall halted the intruders. A pale haired man with wild violet eyes led the small group of hardly a dozen men a foot or so into the room. Even those men well into their cups given the last hour of the feast fell silent and aware of the invasion of their celebrations.

"Well don't stop the feast now that I've arrived. I'll only have a word and be on my way." Ned knew at once who the intruder was. It would take the end of his breaths to erase the face of Aerys Targaryen, second of his name, from his mind's eye. This boy who stood before them had a face and madness to match. Ned could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice, from across the hall.

King Robert had risen from his seat as well, but the Queen stayed seated. "Ned," Robert whispered fiercely. If Ned knew who the boy was than without a doubt King Robert would as well. "What is he doing here?"

"Hello? Lord Stark, is it? Call off your guards, I have an offer for you." Viserys called, one hand cupped over his mouth to amplify his voice, as if he was unaware of the tense silence straining the hall.

"He has an  _offer?_ " Robert's voice was rising and he spoke through clenched teeth. "Since when do you make  _offers_  with Targaryen blood?"

Ned could not afford to look at his friend right then. Instead he addressed Viserys. "Why should I accept any offer from you? You have invaded my home, disrupted my feast, and made my guests uncomfortable." Robert was seething beside him.

"This offer you'll like. A dragon egg for my sister, that's all I ask." He had the audacity to grin, and added in a chipper, sing-song voice: "I won't leave here without her."

" _HIS SISTER!_ " Robert's fist crashed down on the table. Catelyn jumped in fear and the children both Stark and Baratheon below quietly hurried out of the way.

"Yes, my sister. She's a ward here at Winterfell. An informer has told me, straight from King's Landing - so there must be truth to it."

Viserys might play ignorant of the King's rage but no one at the high table was allowed the same right. Robert's chest was heaving, his face blood red and fat trembling. His fist connected over and over with the table top. "Eddard Stark - You have a Targaryen as a  _WARD_!"

"Yes, as you have Theon Greyjoy-"

"As a reminder to the Iron Isles of who their ruler is! As a command for loyalty! What loyalty are you vying for with Targaryen blood under your roof!" That time when his fists connected the table cracked, spilling food and remnants of wine everywhere. Queen Cersei hurried out of the way to preserve her dress; Lady Catelyn had ushered all the youth from the great hall into a back room for their own safety.

"What they did to your father and brother -  _TEN THOUSAND GOLD DRAGONS TO THE MAN WHO BRINGS ME HIS HEAD!_ " Robert bellowed as though he were charging into the battlefield.

Ned watched the mad grin drop from Viserys' face. "A dragon egg for the man to bring me my sister!" He squealed as northmen advanced at all sides. There was a pause before Robert bellowed again. Ned attempted to make Robert understand the madness of what he was doing but the words fell on deaf ears before they were even uttered. Because of Lyanna the Targaryen's had to die, all of them, to quell the grieving heart of Robert Baratheon. Because of Lyanna...

The guards Viserys had brought stood between him and the pressing crowd of men set to claim their coin. Amidst the growling deep in their throats and the barking grunts of the sellsword guards, it could just be made out from where Ned stood, the words spoken from the rear of the hall.

"In the name of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, I, Robb Stark of the House Stark, heir to Winterfell and future Warden of the North, do sentence you to die."

Viserys yelped, gargled and was silenced. The sound of steel cutting through flesh lingered in the air. The sellswords turned to flee but were captured by the guards who had come at the sound of Robert's shouting. The men at the rear of the hall who were not aiding the guards escort the captured to the dungeons stepped aside as Lord Eddard walked past them to his sons.

Robb had a hand on Viserys' shoulder, the other wound in his hair; Jon held the other shoulder and the blade that had been used to slice through the madman's throat. When Ned reached them, they exchanged a subtle enough look before releasing the body. It hit the ground with a flat  _thump_. Ned said nothing for a few moments, silence resting heavy on the shoulders of those gathered. Behind him, King Robert had settled into his seat, angry but sedated. Queen Cersei and Lady Catelyn had gone from the hall.

"Whose plan was this?" When Ned spoke, his voice low in volume yet commanded response.

"Ours," Robb spoke, finding half the courage he needed to look his father in the eye when he did, but not enough to hold his gaze.

Addressing Robb, Lord Eddard asked, "Why were you not at the feast?"

Robb took a deep breath, but Jon spoke in place of him, "To bring me food. He was going to return, so you wouldn't notice he had gone."

"I will not humiliate the truth from you before your people, Robb, nor will I give a trial for what has happened here in the midst of women and dead. You will be present in my solar until such time as I am free to speak with you. Beryer, see to the body."

Lord Stark turned and strode back through the rapidly dissipating crowd toward the King. Beryer moved forward and heaved the body of the dead dragon off the ground. In their haste to leave, none but Jon and Robb saw the three oval stones fall from the sack that had been dropped when they slit Viserys' throat.


	5. Trial of Long Forged Friendships

**Trial of Long Forged Friendships**

While the boys waited for Lord Eddard to arrive in his solar, Robb remembered a time back in their early childhood years when Dany had come to him in a swirl of fear. It was among the last memories he had of her being afraid, but it was his favourite so to speak, for one reason or another, though he could not be sure.

The hour was late and the day had gone and left the sky a darkening blue scattered with diamond white stars the way the northern skies have habit of doing. All three had been playing in the yard, but Dany had excused herself to find Lady Catelyn for something Robb couldn't remember. She was unlikely to return and rather would be sent off to her bedchamber for the night, so Robb and Jon had stayed in the yard to play at swords until the adults forced them to bed.

Robb and Jon weren't allowed to share a bedchamber, a lesson Robb had learned after he agreed that he should be the one to ask for a reason, not Jon. His lord father had told him of the different rules for bastards then, and made a point of telling his son that he was lucky to Jon around at all.  _It's best you understand that your mother does what she must to keep appearances and honour in our House. Jon will always be your half-brother Robb, but in some ways, he will never be your brother at all.._ _._

The words had been his first heaping serving of actual life and it's rules, but it wasn't enough for Robb to grow apart from his half-brother. So Robb and Jon and bid goodnight to the other and disappeared inside their respective bedchamber.

That night was long and cold, a mournful melody of wolf songs bringing Robb in and out of sleep. One of their pack must have died, he believed as he lay awake in his bed. They were singing him into the shadow world, returning him home to the old gods. At first the tentative knock on his bedchamber door went ignored. He had thought himself dreaming after all. When it came again, and a third time, then a fourth, Robb grew curious and stirred from his quilts to answer.

In the corridor stood Daenerys, wearing her nightclothes and socks under a quilt that she wore as she would wear a cloak. "Where you sleeping?" she whispered, violet eyes black in the dim lit stone hall.

Robb shook his head, whispering back. "I was listening to the wolves. Why are you not sleeping?"

"The wolves are below my window. I wouldn't try to see them but they're so loud I know it's the truth." Dany said, pulling the quilt tighter around herself, looking down to her toes. "I'm being a silly girl, I know, but they scare me Robb. They do."

Robb remembered then how he had given her a hug, or tried to at least. The quilt was so thick he could scarce touch his fingers together at the back. "You can't be scared of wolves. You're a dragon, and besides, you live with direwolves, which are much more scary than regular wolves."

"I do?" Her voice told him he wasn't helping.

"Not actual direwolves, Starks. Our sigil is the direwolf, but your sigil is a three-headed dragon! Dragons can fly and breath fire and grow large as the Wall." Dany's fear was ebbing away, but Robb continued until it was gone entirely. "A wolf wouldn't be able to fight off a dragon. It probably couldn't even fight off a direwolf. But you can fight off direwolves - you hit both me and Jon today at swords. My arm actually still hurts," the last bit had been a lie, but it didn't matter.

Dany had begun to smile in that way she does when she's determined to prove someone wrong but she won't tell you how she plans to go about the task. "You're right Robb, I shouldn't be afraid of silly wolves. I live with direwolves, and I'm a dragon." Her smiled deepened at the sound of that, and she hugged him fiercely.

He had walked her to her bedchamber, sharing the warmth of the quilt as they went. At her door he turned to leave after he'd said goodnight, but Dany asked him, "Are you going to be warm enough on the way back?" Robb had considered it, and decided he would run so he wouldn't get too cold before he was abed. He told her as much. "No, take my quilt. It's warm."

"And what should you sleep with if I do?"

"I have a sheet, and some other quilts if I need, but I'm always warm."

Robb shook his head, "You can't be."

Dany nodded, insistently, "I am. The windows of my bedchamber are open even tonight."

She proved it to him when he didn't believe her, opening the door of her bedchamber to release a cold gust of wind into the corridor. Robb bundled her quilt around him fiercely, stunned. She apologized, thanked him, kissed his cheek and said goodnight before the bedchamber swallowed her up. Robb had returned to his bedchamber and laid upon his feather mattress, wrapped in her quilt. He'd fallen asleep to the song of the wolves and the warmth of dragon fire.

"Robb," Jon said, drawing him out of his reprieve and back into the solar. The morning sun had begun to lighten the eastern sky, and the fire in the hearth had gone down to small flames and glowing embers. Robb stirred from his place in one of the chairs and walked toward his half-brother and the warmth. "You fell asleep."

"You didn't?" Robb asked.

Jon shook his head, "No, I couldn't. All I could think of was Lady Catelyn bursting through the door in outrage."

Robb chuckled. "My lady mother may not favour you but she is hardly in a place to reprimand either of us for what occurred at the feast. That is our lord father's responsibility, and he will take his time in doing so."

"Why though? We did nothing wrong. The man was no guest beneath our roof, nor was King Robert overly pleased at his arrival. Ten thousand gold dragons for his head didn't exactly sound like a jest."

"Maybe not, but even so we slew a man in front of guests, women and children and the royal family. He was given no proper trial, which I suspect is what father would have done if he had had say in the matter."

Jon poked at the embers with an iron rod. "Every man at the rear of the hall was prepared to slay the same man for the coin promised. The King would have been satisfied and the matter resolved."

"Aye but we are Stark and Snow. The rules are different."

"For you at least," Jon said, leaving Robb with a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach. They both had known what would happen, or at least had something of an idea, when they decided to take the matter into their own hands.

They had been eating food from the feast on the bannister of the empty stable once again. Robb had snuck the food out with a lantern once again and found Jon where he knew him to be. That much had been prearranged. Their conversation had been rather serious, discussing the departure of their sisters and Jon's desire to go to the Wall, when they watched the small band of men cut down two of the guards at the front gate and hurry forward. By some miracle none saw the light of the lantern, and continued for the great hall.

Robb had been furious, had let his plate fall and had been prepared to fight them; it had been Jon who had the sense to stop him. "Wait. We are outnumbered and unarmed. There are no guards outside the doors, no one else will die."

"Unless they reach the guests." Robb retorted. "The blonde one leads them. If we can get to him, cut him down, then the others should fall back. Odds are they are hardly more than sellswords."

"If you are killed in our two-man ambush I will be beheaded before the Wall can ask for my sword-arm." The tone of Jon's voice, the raw, brazen truth terrifying to hear. Lady Catelyn would demand it, on grounds that he was a bastard and should not ever have been trusted the way the Starks had trusted him. Robb could scarce bring himself to see his mother in such a light, but he knew it would be the truth of things, should he fall in the charge.

So they had waited, and while they did they stole to the armoury to don mail and half-helms and a dagger and longsword each. Sellswords were an unpredictable bunch, and it was better to be prepared for them to stay fighting in case they did not run off. They could hear the King's bellowing commands, the drunken slurring of his thick corded voice. The guards within the hall had stopped the intruders advance, but a crowd of men seated at the rear had blades out and were pressing against the sellsword wall that defended the blonde haired man. The household guardsmen would drawback and let the mob swarm them, by command or rights.

Robb and Jon hurried, speaking in whispers as to what they planned to do. "He stands unprotected from the rear. We could cut him down with ease."

"Aye, but whose blade will take the glory?" Robb asked.

"Mine. I'm a bastard. Should they be displeased they will send me to the Wall where I was going regardless. Should they be content, I will be thanked but not honoured."

"On what grounds should I not aid you? I will not let you take the blame alone."

"You are heir to Winterfell, and the shame you might cast on your House would mar the honour of your name and your father's name." Jon said quite seriously, pulling the sword belt onto his hips and fastening it quick and tight.

Robb pulled the half-helm over his head in time with Jon. "No, I have an idea better."

It had been he who decided they would act in tandem. Not to share glory but the distort the ability to blame. A Stark's honour was as valued as a good harvest in the north. Lord Eddard would not judge his trueborn son different than his bastard if the crime they committed was the same. Jon was the one to suggest the words. "They will listen, the men around will hear you. It should prove trial enough," he whispered as they crept through the yard, daggers unsheathed.

The mob was growling, both them and sellswords pushing against the barrier of the guards. The blonde haired man was backing up, though not notably from the high table. When they grabbed him, each took the shoulder opposite the side they stood on, to keep him from running and to allow them better positioning. It happened so naturally, unplanned. Robb clapped a hand over his mouth and Jon pressed the blade to one edge of his throat. When the words of judgement were spoken, they came out calm and unwavering, loud enough to demand an eerie silence but quiet enough to leave some curious and confused. Robb could scarcely believe it was his voice that had birthed them. Then Robb released his mouth, yanked back his hair and Jon sliced his throat clean, halfway to beheaded.

[]

"You have kept the Targaryen bitch a ward in Winterfell for near as long as your own trueborn son and heir has been alive and why? because your  _wife_  told you if she couldn't keep the dragon you couldn't keep the mutt!" King Robert was evidently struggling to keep control of his temper. They were in a counsel room, away from the rest of the people staying in Winterfell. Ned had instructed the guards to refuse anyone access until they were done, and to patrol the halls surrounding so that none might overhear what was being discussed.

"My wife has as much right to the matters of the children as I, more if you consider that were it not for her I would be childless to a fault. I returned from war with a bastard at my arm and asked her to burden the shame that it would bring her. What she asked of me was only just. The babe had done no wrong by you Robert and you know this."

The King looked as though Ned had attempted to strike him. He rose from his seat and couldn't keep the volume from his voice. "The babe has done no wrong!? Her brother-"

"Her brother exactly!" Ned shouted back, his own temper suddenly brought to ignite. He rose and forced his hands down on the desk. He would not bear insult in his own home. The sheer shock of Ned's sudden rage shut the King up and sat him back in his seat. "Her brother Rhaegar was the Targaryen who stole Lyanna from you, and who disgraced Queen Elia and her family of Dorne. Rhaegar slighted you the way no man, highborn, king, or otherwise, has rights to do. It was Aerys Targaryen, second of his name, who butchered my father and brother, who strangled one as the other cooked in his own armour. It was Aerys who threatened to set all of King's Landing in wildfire so that he might burn his family, our men, our army, your rebellion to ashes in the mouths of Westeros. Viserys Targaryen was slain in your name by my sons because of what we knew him to be by the look in his eye and the madness of his words. But Daenerys Targaryen is a gentle woman whom I have raised amongst my own daughters and sons in the way and manner of a Stark. She knows what she is but she is no threat to your reign or family!"

A ringing silence swept through the counsel room as Ned's words settled over the King. Slowly Ned lowered himself back into his seat, waiting for Robert, his friend from his youth, his ally in war, his king, to say the next piece.

It seemed a long while before Robert spoke, but Ned had patience enough to wait. There was no sense forcing a man to speak when no words were readily available, and less sense to speak without first thinking on the words one wishes to say.

Finally the King clapped his hands together, "If you truly believe that the dragon spawn is innocent and harmless, why then did you have her sent off or locked away. None of my men have seen whisper or hear word of her. One might believe she did not exist here at all, but I know you Ned. I know by your honour you would not lie to your king."

"Much less would I lie to my friend."

"You lied about the girl."

"You never asked after the girl. How was I to lie a response to a question never asked?" Ned saw a smile of sorts shine across Robert's face. The King nodded his acceptance of the statement and gestured for him to continue. "Lady Catelyn and I sent her away to prevent enraging you, as it is well known your hatred for the Targaryen House. We acted as we saw necessary to provide your family with the most comfort we could, and Daenerys understands all of this."

"How can you be so sure this girl does not lie to your face as her brother Rhaegar lied to the Seven Kingdoms?"

Ned did not take his eyes off of Robert as he reached under his desk and withdrew from a drawer a sealed letter. "She wrote this by her own hand, signed it at the end as is custom, and begged I give it to you, unread, should I have cause to do so."

"It is sealed by your sigil."

"She does not possess one of her own House."

King Robert huffed, reaching across the desk with a deal of effort to take the letter from Lord Eddard's hand. He broke the seal and hesitated, turning the letter over to read the address. Ned had read it when Dany had present it to him, the only part of the letter of which he knew.  _King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm._

"Before I read this there is one other point of address I wish to make clear to you. It is subject to change depending on the content of this letter I hold." Ned nodded and Robert continued. "Your daughters shall journey south to King's Landing and will be taken as wards under my command. Sansa shall remain to be wed to Joffrey to ensure your loyalty to the crown, not to solidify relations. Arya will remain ward until she has flowered, at which time we will discuss her marriage to my son Tommen. Lady Catelyn will make the journey with them but she will not be permitted to attend to her daughters unless by order of myself or the Queen. Upon our arrival at King's Landing a garrison will return her to Winterfell. Are these terms understood?"

Ned nodded, "They are, Your Grace."

Robert gave a curt nod in response and opened the letter in full to read all that Daenerys Targaryen wished him to know.

[][]

Daenerys had never longed for sleep in all her years the way she longed for it in Everset. While the sky was still clothed in the shadow fabrics of night she was beckoned to rise. She had asked William to ensure she was up to help him when he rose; after the first morning he had let her sleep she had commanded him to do so, which generated a laughing smile and nod of understanding. By the fifth morning she was rising from her bed on her own accord, pulling on her work clothes through a muddled state of awareness and sleep and reaching the quaint kitchen before even him.

She spent her days working the fields with him, doing lesser jobs like mucking stalls, grooming, herding, and feeding animals, milking cows and general repairs along the fence line and barn, while William tended to the crops, sowed the seeds and bartered with fellow farmers as they lugged wagons to and from the Everset square. Once, near the end of her stay, she had fallen asleep standing upright next to a stall, resting her head on her arms along the bannister of a swine pen. When she woke she found a pig nibbling at the end of her sleeve and William grinning at her as he milked the cows.

"It's not what you agreed to, is it my lady?"

"Yvetta, please. It certainly is not. My apologies,"

William shook his head, waving away her apologies. "You work hard for a girl whose slept in a castle and knows her letters. My mother fears I'll work you to death, but you work well. I appreciate what you do."

Dany smiled, covering a yawn and laughed at her own foolishness. "You're right, I'm like to never wish to come back here once I'm off." She grinned to show him she wasn't entirely serious. "Yet learning letters is an exhausting task you know."

"More exhausting that repairing a section of fence a league north of the barn?"

"Not in the way you would think. Your body is perfect at rest, but your mind is working furiously to attempt to comprehend what is is seeing and make sense of it all."

William looked skeptical. "Oh really?"

"You don't believe me?" Dany glanced around the barn and hurried over to a stray stick before returning to him. "Look and tell me what I've written." She knelt in the dirt and etched the letters in ground with the stick as a quill. She had written his name -  _WILLIAM -_ for him to see.

After a couple moments he shrugged. "What do the words say?"

"The word says 'William.' Those are the letters you need to write your name in the Common Tongue."

"There's more than one tongue?" William shook out his hair, stopping her from answering. "So that is how my name looks when you write it?"

"Yes,"

He paused, trying to match the way he said his name to the appearance of the letters before him. "It makes no sense. How do you know this is true?" he questioned. Dany smiled, and pronounced each letter for him, joining them together slowly until she said his name properly so that he could hear how the letters made sense. William mimicked her, and though his voice was awkward and unsteady, he managed. "How is your name written?"

Dany began writing  _Dae-_ before she erased it quickly and wrote over it  _Yvetta._  Thankfully William did not know his letters or he would have realized her mistake. Instead, what he made of her error was a jest, "Did you forget for a moment?"

She smiled, relieved by his ignorance. "I was going to write the name of my House, but it's more confusing than my name. It's better to learn simple words and letter pairs before the more complex variations."

William smiled at her, and he moved into the dirt beside her so that she could teach him the way the letters worked. That day the physical labour was forgotten in place of the mental counterpart. Brigitte had to come fetch them from the barn by way of a lantern. The time had gone from their minds as William recited by memory the order of the letters, and then wrote them both large and small in the dirt beside those she had drawn. When his mother came into the barn William was struggling to read a collection of words Dany had read as she wrote them and then again before she asked him to try.

"What is the meaning of this?" Brigitte demanded.

William scrambled from the dirt, alarmed as though his mother had caught him in the act of lovemaking and not reading. Dany rose as well, brushing herself off, ashamed.

"Yvetta was teaching me letters, how to read them and write them."

"I'm sorry Brigitte. I was out of line," she apologized.

"And what good do letters do when the crop fails and the animals die?" Brigitte snapped. "The letters are for the highborn and the privileged. Not for the son of a farmer and a seamstress. Now you will quit this folly, both of you, and come eat before I decide to have you go without."

Brigitte turned and took her leave, wobbling slightly as she went. William bowed his head, rubbing his face with his dirt streaked hands. Dany felt awful; she had not meant any harm by it, truly she hadn't. When William took a step toward the door of the barn, she made to follow but he turned back to face her and went to kick the letters from the dirt.

"Don't, please. You worked so hard." She begged feebly.

William scoffed, kicking at the words and letters despite her protest. "No, my mother is right. Letters won't feed anyone, no more than a highborn lady could help a farmer." He walked past her and out of the barn.

Dany felt the warmth of tears in her eyes as a sudden crushing desire to ride for Winterfell overtook her. Her knights should have arrived two days past to gather her but they hadn't come yet. She knew she should wait but she desperately wanted to bury herself in the arms of those who truly loved her. She could have run for her horse, stolen away in the black of night, before or after Brigitte and William slept. It would make no difference. And her things were only things, deliberately made to look like those of a girl lowborn. They wouldn't be hers once she returned to Winterfell, so she might well leave them behind to unburden the horse.

All these thoughts swirled through her mind as she seriously considered the option. Still she held the tears at bay until her saddened eyes fell on the remnants of letters left in the dirt. She saw his name, half ruined amongst the rest of the Starks, and fell to her knees and wept.

 


	6. Flight of the Ladies Fair

**Flight of the Ladies Fair**

Lady Catelyn had come into the solar early the morning the girls were to leave for King's Landing. Robb and Jon had not yet been seen by Lord Eddard, though they had come to agreement that their punishment was most likely to sit and reflect on their actions, which they had done more than enough. When she arrived she was dressed for travel and had entered with a rapping on the door to precede her.

"Robb, can I speak with you a moment?"

"I am forbidden to leave the solar until Father speaks with us," he responded.

Catelyn nodded but gestured for him to come into the hall regardless. "It is only for a moment. I will inform your father so as to keep at bay further punishment."

Robb cast a glance back to Jon, who gave the smallest of shrugs and an expression that said he knew it wasn't his place to offer input. Reluctantly Robb followed his mother into the corridor, closing the door behind him. She walked a small ways away from the door before she turned to him and began. "Your sisters and I are leaving today."

"I was made aware when Quron brought food to break our fast."

Lady Catelyn nodded. "You know then that I will be returning once I see them safe to the Red Keep, as per the terms of you father's revised agreement with the King." Robb had not known but he gave a nod that said he had, for what reason he wasn't certain. His mother continued. "You should also know then that I have drafted letters to be sent to the Wall regarding Jon Snow's hand in the murder of the intruder two nights past."

"Letters?" Robb asked, confusion and betrayal blending together in his gut. "What of these letters? Where they sent?"

His mother shook her head. "No Robb, they have not yet been sent."

Robb repeated rather calmly but with a growl he could not keep from his voice. "What is the message in these letters Mother?"

"The Wall should know who they have joining their ranks. I told them only the truth. That Jon Snow is a bastard as his name labels him, that he murdered a man in the great hall during the farewell feast arranged for the royal family and thus delayed their departure by upsetting the King."

He could feel himself trembling with outrage, disbelief that she would think to write such a misleading recollection of events. Robb had always known that his mother barely tolerated Jon but this slight was one he would not stand by and accept as an appropriate measure to take. How Robb managed to speak to her so surely as his father oft spoke to him when he had done wrong, Robb knew not. "You will burn those letters before you leave for King's Landing."

"I will do no such thing."

"Will you label me a murderer, Mother? Will you tell the Wall that I too am to join their ranks for upsetting the King and taking a life beneath a hall in swing of a feast?"

Lady Catelyn was bewildered. "How dare you suggest I send you to the Wall!"

"Did I not murder a man at a feast though Mother? Did you not hear of how I spoke the words and sentenced a man to die, an improper trial given to a man who had barged in on the feast of the King?"

"I will not stand here and take this from you." Lady Catelyn gathered her skirts in her hands and turned to leave him.

Robb reached out an arm to stop her, and stepped in front of her so that there was no means of exit. "Did I kill a man, Mother?"

"Your hand did not wield the blade."

"You heard me say the words. You saw me expose his neck so Jon could cut his throat." Robb spoke plainly, feigning indifference, though he was well aware of the affect of his words.

"Robb, please," Lady Catelyn's eyes had lost the hardness that had crept into them like stone through the years.

"You saw all, heard all, and still you would send Jon to the Wall a murderer! Yet you would keep me here in Winterfell to rule as though I had no part in the crime. Jon had want to go to the Wall with the dignity and respect he has earned and you would strip even that from him, as you have striped the love and compassion he has yearned for and deserved of you since first he arrived here."

"Jon has deserved nothing of me!" Catelyn shrieked, mortified that her eldest son would take such a tone with her, say such horrid things of her. She would give him his truth if that was want he wanted of her but she would never let it be known that her son walked over her. "I am not his mother. He is no son of mine. Your father shamed me when he brought that bastard back from the south and I tolerated it because I am a good wife."

Robb's lips were a grim unsmiling line.  _If Jon is not your son then why should Dany, who is not your daughter, receive love where Jon does not?_  He left the thought unvoiced and said instead. "You tolerated it because you had shamed him when you accepted Daenerys Targaryen into our family in the same way a bastard is born. Without regard for your marriage partner and in a moment of blind love."

She struck him then, a slap that resounded off the walls around them. When her hand met the skin of his face he did not turn his head so that her hand would slide off. His gaze was on her the entire time, and she was made to withdraw her hand awkwardly. There were tears in her eyes, visible now. She had never struck any of her children, though there had been times she had been tempted. Yet how did he expect for her to react? Did he even care how he had hurt her with his words?

"You  _will_  burn those letters." Robb stepped aside to let her pass, a wordless indication that the conversation was at an end. Catelyn gathered her skirts and stalked off, her head high and proud. She would not let her son see her cry, nor would she leave Winterfell in tears.

[]

She found the kingsroad easy enough. All she had taken was her cloak, her horse, and a lantern, though the coin she had left on the table was more than enough to replace it. Brigitte and William could live out the remains of their days in comfort if they chose. Perhaps he might be able to eat with her again one day after she had gone. The last moment bubble of fabric Lady Catelyn had given her had proved to be the blanket she was delivered to Winterfell in, and a necklace which she had put on after the third day of being in Everset. The small red jewels inlaid in white metal reminded her of Winterfell. It had been the final push she had needed to take her leave of the village, guards or no.

Dany soon found that she had no true need of the lantern. She rode with the blue eye of the Ice Dragon to her back and the light of the moon to guide her. The horse did not need to run once the village was behind them, so she let it slow to a steady trot. By daybreak she was uncertain of how long she had been riding. The night hours are not as easy to discern as those of the day. When she had been on route to Everset the horse had ran. Perhaps if she kept the trotting pace she might reach Winterfell by sunset.

She stopped only once, to let the horse graze and set the lantern in the grass along the road. She hadn't seen anyone all day until a man all in black came riding up beside her. "Are you lost milady?" He asked, though he couldn't know for certain she was highborn. The cloak had been designed to match the dresses and bore no trace of Stark colours. Even the scarf on her hair was a cotton brown.

"You're a man of the Night's Watch."

"Aye," he said with a nod, "Destined for Winterfell to ask Lord Stark for the men they captured."  _Men they captured?_ Dany wasn't sure what to make of it, but it didn't sound good. "Might I offer assistance, milady? It would be no trouble."

"I too am destined for Winterfell, though not for men captured."

The Black Brother laughed. "Well there's a good thing. I'll ride with you in case we come upon thieves. My name is Ser Rowmett."

"Dany," she replied, taking his hand in exchange. A man of the Night's Watch had no alliances and no indulgence in politics, so he would be safe to give her name to, even if it was only a short form. "How far are we from Winterfell, do you know?"

"A half day from whence you first came in my view. At this pace, I suspect we shall arrive late in the night or early on the morrow."

Dany nodded, "Then perhaps we shall ride faster, lest the Wall should take you for a deserter."

Ser Rowmett shook his head, "There is no trouble Dany. Oft the Watch sends a brother to castles and lord's in search of men. Brothers like Erynic ride for King's Landings often and are ne'er seen for little less than half a year."

"Still, I insist. I can ride a horse better than you would believe, I wager."

He smiled, "Aye? Well I'll take that wager. That tree down yonder? If I should pass it first, we ride slow."

"If I should pass it first, we ride fast, and I'll give you a kiss for being sweet enough to let me win." Dany's eyes glittered with laughter and excitement at the prospect. She swung one leg over the still moving horse to ride like a man and waited for his reply.

Ser Rowmett clapped his hands together, "I shan't be letting you win too easy milady."

"It's Dany," and she spurred her horse into a kicking bolt. She could hear his own horse racing behind her and catching up quickly. Dany spurred the horse again and it picked up some more speed. Regardless he was soon riding neck in neck with her; when she glanced his way he grinned and she smiled, leaning closer to the horse and urging him faster with her mind. It felt so good to ride so fast, even as she watched Ser Rowmett pull ahead as the tree sped ever closer. The freedom that was brought by wind through ones hair and wings on ones feet could not be matched by all the sports in the Seven Kingdoms.

When her horse slowed into a mid-paced trot with his Dany was glowing. Her cheeks were pink from wind burn and her hair tangled once the scarf let go, but her heart was racing on and her skin felt alive with energy.

"You didn't lie, Dany, you do ride faster than I believed." Ser Rowmett chuckled, pushing his hair back from his face.

Dany speared her own with her fingers, tying the long locks in a knot with themselves to keep it from her face for now. Both Lady Catelyn and Sansa would be horrified at her doing so. They were always complimenting her hair's beauty. "Though not fast enough to outrun the Night's Watch it would seem."

"We have to be fast to catch wildlings and deserters. It was once said that no man rides so fast as a man of the Watch. We breed our horses for speed, not to pull wagons."

"Are there many deserters these days?" Dany asked, genuinely curious.

"No, but every man that does make the choice leaves us one man less prepared. The Wall is not a place one goes for glory. That's all the green boys want these days is glory. But worry not, Dany, the Wall is well guarded enough I assure you." He smiled at her but his words left her wondering.

If he knew who she was now that her scarf was gone he made no comment of it. The way he had talked of the Wall at first was much the same as how Benjen Stark described it when first he told them of it's existence years ago. Yet as his words flowed on, it seemed as though he believed her to be smallfolk, and was reassuring her that her family farm was safe from a wildling invasion.

For hours they rode with periods of silence, long stretches of time between Dany's questions and his explanations. She had wanted to know how they trained; how high the Wall was, and if it were truly made entirely of ice; why certain people decided to join the Watch when prisoners were always being brought up; what different castles there were, all of them, and which positions did men hold if they were not all soldiers.

"For a girl in smallfolk clothes you do not seem to fit the role so well," Ser Rowmett had said at one point late into the afternoon. "Are you certain you aren't highborn?"

Dany shrugged innocently, "If I were I doubt I'd be fool enough to announce it."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Were there more women like you, I never would have joined the Watch."

"The Realm thanks you for your valiant sacrifice, and apologizes for it's lack of girls with wit." Dany grinned, urging her horse a touch faster.

They reached Winterfell an hour after the day had ended. Once they were through the castle wall Dany dismounted to walk her horse to the stables. She nearly fell as her knees buckled, but Ser Rowmett caught her by the arm to stop her doing so. "A long day's ride for one unaccustomed always leaves the legs a bit weak."

Dany blushed and nodded, "A fair judgement. Thank you kindly, good ser."

"For the ward of Lord and Lady Stark, the pleasure is mine, Daenerys."

Once she was steady walking, she lead him to the stables. She knew he needed no direction but she gave it all the same, as thanks for his company along the kingsroad. From there he excused himself to seek an audience with Lord Eddard. She stopped him briefly and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "For being sweet enough to let me win." He smiled down at her and walked away.

"You're back?" Dany turned from her horse to see Jon striding toward her, disbelieving and happy.

"Jon!" She hurried toward him as fast as her sore legs would move and threw her arms around him in embrace. "Oh I've missed your wild curls," she said as she buried her face in his neck. Coming back to Winterfell, she knew she was home, but to see a sibling and to feel the love they wrapped her in was what it took to bring tears of relief to her eyes.

He drew back slightly to look at her. "Why are you crying?"

"I've just missed you all so much." She made a show of dabbing her eyes, but the tears were persistent. "Where are the girls? I have stories to share they won't believe are real."

Jon's face clouded and he glanced at his feet. "The girls have rode south for King's Landing. Sansa is to marry Prince Joffrey, and Lady Stark hopes to make a proper lady out of Arya yet."

"Oh," the defeat weighed in her voice, deflating her. Though she tried to lighten up some, the effort was listless. "Oh, Sansa must be so thrilled. It's always been her dream to ride south to find a handsome man. I wish I could have bid her good luck. And Arya," she smiled through her sadness at the thought of Arya waltzing about in silk dresses, prim and proper. "she will do wonderfully, and most likely return to Winterfell on the first horse left unattended."

Jon smiled for her, pulling her close to him with one arm and leading her off toward the kitchens. "Come on now, you know the girls are upset that they couldn't say more goodbyes to you as well. Besides, Bran and Rickon and Robb are here, and awake I wager. They will be thrilled to see you after so long."

He was right, naturally. As Quron made her some food Jon went to fetch his half-brothers. Rickon came darting into the kitchen like a wild stallion, wrapping himself around her legs and proclaiming, "The maester made you better just like Robb told me!"

"Dany!" Bran came to hug her too, leaning in over his younger brother who had still not let go. Dany hugged him back and felt the tears threatening again.

This time she held them back, and smiled lovingly at them both, laying kisses on both of their cheeks and their noses. "You boys are my favourite Starks in all the Seven Kingdoms!" She knelt and they instantly hugged her around the neck, but she hugged them back just as fiercely.

Soon Quron ushered them into the benches designed for the serving staff and set bowls of soup for each. "You boys will let her eat before you smother her with your questions."

All three of them offered their thanks. The first bite reminded Dany of Everset, the small table and the closeness of the company she had kept there. The second bite pushed the nastiness of Brigitte into her mind, and the third returned her to the wonderment of Winterfell, where she belonged. Bran and Rickon were both telling two different stories, one about arrows and another about direwolves and there was mention of a madman and a maester though from whom Dany couldn't be sure.

"Woo, slow down Bran, Rickon, or you'll choke on leeks." Robb came around to the servants table with Jon and they sat opposite Bran and Rickon who had already claimed the seats beside Dany. She lit up when she saw him and would have rose in proper greeting had it not been for Rickon tugging at her sleeve so that she would listen more closely to his questions.

"So is the Wall where you went as big as father says? Robb says so but you went so you know for real."

Dany nodded, "It is. The Wall is seven  _hundred_  feet high and made all of ice, and there are castles there with knights and lords and a maester just as in Winterfell."

Rickon's jaw went slack; he couldn't believe it. Leaning back on the bench, he reached for Bran and said, "Did you hear that? There's knights on the Wall!"

"Are there for real and true?" Bran asked, skeptical.

"Would I lie to my two favourite Starks?" Bran shook his head rapidly; Dany elaborated, "Ser Rowmett personally escorted me from the Wall back to Winterfell. He's a valiant man of the Watch and still here, speaking with your lord father." At hearing that both younger boys scrambled from their seats and rushed off, urging the other to keep up. Dany beamed after them, missing them already but knowing that they were not at all far away.

"Am I your second favourite Stark, or is that tied, Arya and Sansa?" Robb asked politely, a glimmer of joking about the corners of his mouth as he feigned innocence over his bowl of soup.

Dany ate a spoon of soup and shrugged, "I suppose you can be second, as Arya and Sansa have gone and left me to be the last lady in Winterfell, which was rather impolite of them."

"You only suppose? That's rather unconvincing,"

"Well you can't be first, I've already given the honour to Bran and Rickon," Dany said, her voice dressed up in dramatic mock-sternness, "and Jon's my favourite Snow. So unless you want third for being ungrateful, I suggest you take your suppose and be content."

Robb laughed into her soup. "Oh I've missed your humour."

"I have missed all of you equally. You would scarce believe what it was I was up to whilst I was gone..." and she shared with them her time at Everset, of Brigitte and William, of mucking stalls and mending fences. Jon and Robb teased her and listened to her. Jon sided with her instantly when she confessed how she'd run off and left Everset, while Robb said nothing either way on the matter. The food sat warm and welcome in her stomach, slowly bringing thoughts of sleep to her mind.

Quron cleared away their bowls before clearing them from the kitchens. "Best be resting, you lot. On the morrow there is time for talking. Sleep now, lords and lady," and he closed the kitchen doors.

Dany walked between the two boys through the dark toward their bedchambers. The corridors were dim with the light of torches and lanterns but the shadows stretched out long and content between them. When they reached the boy's bedchambers, she turned and gave Jon a long hug. "You were right to leave them you know," he said. She kissed him goodnight on the cheek and he slipped into his bedchamber, closing the door behind him.

When she turned back to Robb his hand was resting on the knob of his bedchamber door. "You would be so quick to leave my presence after my return?" There was a jest there, amongst the words, but it felt poor and lost.

Robb shook his head though he didn't look at her.

"What is it? You can tell me, Robb." The hand she extended in comfort was used by him to pull her into an embrace. His hands held her, strong and sure and loving, against his chest. She hugged him in return, resting her face in the curve of his neck, tears threatening for the third time since she got off her horse.

"I've missed so much more than simply your humour." A sigh released the tensions from his shoulders as he took a small step back from her. The light of the torch which hung beside the door of his bedchamber caught the edge of the silver chain leading to white metal and red jewels that hung from her neck. He recognized it immediately, but said not of it in his discomfort. There were certain phrases a highborn lady should never hear. Indirectly admitting to stealing a glance at her chest was one such phrase.

"I've missed you also, more than I fear I could tell in the kitchens." 

"Your stories were incomplete?"

"In part."

"Which part?" Robb asked, his hands trailing down from her shoulders to her wrists and her fingers. She had eyes like northern wildflowers, hair like moonlight. He could look at her forever.

Those Riverland eyes of calm, deep blue gazed at her with patience, instilling her with a confidence she hadn't known she was lacking. "This part," she whispered, and lifted herself onto her toes to kiss him gently.


	7. Song Birds and Endless Roads

**Song Birds and Endless Roads**

There were few things more dull than travelling down the kingsroad. It was a fact that Arya was coming to learn quite expertly. Sansa, on the contrary, was having an absolutely splendid time. Her long days of travel were spend lounging in the carriage with Queen Cersei and Princess Myrcella, listening to lavish stories of King's Landing and all the wonderful things Myrcella had done in the capital. She spoke of the handmaids Sansa would be given, of the dresses she would wear to court and the fashion of her hair, while the Queen sat and listened, staring out the curtained window.

Once when the carriage had stopped early for the day, Sansa asked the Queen what is was like to have grown up in the south, in a place such as Casterly Rock.

"Those were wonderful years," she said, and it seemed as though she would say nothing further. Yet as Sansa made to take her leave the Queen continued, "How is it you have never ventured south? Why would any parent, father or mother, allow such a beautiful girl to grow in such an ugly place?"

She fixed Sansa with a waiting expression, but for once Sansa had nothing to say at all.

The Queen gave a grimly looking smile, "I had no answer either," and walked past her with a strange mist over her beautiful face. Sansa watched her walk up the column in search of the King, or her brother Jamie. They seemed the only people she ever wished to converse with. It was the first instance in their travels, a couple weeks already gone past, that Sansa had wished to seek her mother's advice before she reminded herself that she was forbidden to speak with her.

Arya watched the Queen leave and let out a sigh of relief. "You ladies are so horrible to listen to," she complained, starting off away from the inn and toward the rear of that night's camp. There were days when Arya was made to ride with them, and others when she was given leave to ride a horse beside Prince Joffrey and the Hound. Though Sansa was angered that Arya should get to spend so much time beside  _her_  prince, she knew Arya well enough that she feared little over her sister stealing his attention.

Sansa looked amazed Arya could even think such a thought. "You know one day you'll have to become a lady, Arya. Mother will make you," she followed after her younger sister, moving around the shallow puddles rather than striding through them as Arya did.

"She can't make me if she's not even allowed to speak with me." Arya pointed out hotly, marching rather than walking toward the bank of a shallow stream.

"Oh Arya, why can't you even try?"

"Because being a lady means you have to be dumb and obey stupid men even before you marry them."

The comment stung. "I am not dumb, Arya."

Arya gave a dry laugh, "Ha, says the lady that couldn't believe I'd ever wish wear mail under my dresses."

"Well that was dumb!" Sansa gave her an incredulous look, eyes narrowed.

"Only until an enemy looses an arrow to kill you so that he can cut down your lord while he mourns. An arrow can't pierce mail."

Arya was removing her riding boots and cotton socks; Sansa realized she was doing the same only after her foot sank into the soft river mud.  _Gross,_  she thought. "So you do see yourself marrying a lord then."

Her sister shrugged, "I'm going to have to if you make a lady out of me. Father would want me to, to keep his bannermen loyal. I swear I won't be all proper and dumb though. Not ever, not for anyone." She hiked up her skirts in an unladylike manner and walked into the shallow water.

Sansa followed a step behind. It only came up a little past her ankles, and it was more warm than cold. "Well you only have to pretend if you are so desperate to shame yourself."

"What do you mean, shame myself?"

Sansa ignored the question. "Princess Myrcella was telling me while you were riding that horse, how there is a Tyrell woman they call the Queen of Thorns. It's a jape, naturally, as Queen Cersei is the true queen, but the Queen of Thorns is said to be both ladylike and outspoken as a man."

Arya considered this, casting a glance downstream. "Maybe I'll sneak and ask Mother if I can go to Highgarden and be their ward instead. I could be the Princess of Thorns then," she laughed at the idea of being called a princess, an idea Sansa found equally amusing though a touch annoying. She was the one who was going to be an actual princess.

"What's this then?" The girls' laughter cut off abruptly at the sound of Joffrey's voice. His gaze passed over Sansa and fell on Arya. He sneered at her, "You want to be a princess? You're too ugly to be a princess."

Sansa watched as her sister started splashing out of the stream. Water sprayed from her footfalls, landing on Sansa's dress and making her shriek, "Arya, stop that!"

"You take that back," Arya demanded, her toes sinking into the mud of the bank. She was a whole head shorter than the prince but her advance had made him retreat a step or two. "I'm not ugly, you dumb prince."

"Arya!" Sansa gasped. Oh, if her sister ruined her marriage arrangement to Joffrey she would scream and never speak to her again!

Joffrey wasn't pleased either by the comment. He shot a fierce glare at Sansa and commanded, "Let her know how ugly she is, unless you want to go back to your filthy hovel in the north."

Arya was torn between glaring at Joffrey and glaring at Sansa. When she met Sansa's eyes she silently hoped Sansa wouldn't say it, even though she knew her sister would. Stupid, obedient, lady-like Sansa.

"You  _are_  hardly a lady," Sansa said, her voice small.

It didn't convince Joffrey. "Hardly a lady? My sister is hardly a lady but at least she's pretty. I said, tell her how  _ugly_  she is."

"You are ugly, Arya," Sansa felt ashamed and defeated. She cast her eyes to the mud.

Arya's glare deepened; she turned back to Joffrey, who looked smug and vaguely satisfied. At the sight of her storming toward him the prince took many steps in retreat. "I may be ugly but at least I'm not scared of girls!"

She returned to the bank for her boots and socks. Joffrey was fuming, and Arya's back was turned. Sansa saw him start toward her sister, his arms extending as if to shove her. If Arya fell she would be soaked and the Queen would force her to walk the rest of the day like that. The Arya would humiliate Sansa with retched lies of how she had stood by and allowed Joffrey to push her into the water. Sansa simply wouldn't allow it. "Hound! The Prince!" She hollered as much as her voice was capable of hollering.

Arya turned, curious, in time to react to Joffrey coming at her. She ducked, wide-eyed, tucking her body close to her knees in the shape of a small boulder. Joffrey had been moving too fast and his foot caught the slickness of the mud before he could stop. He tripped over Arya and landed in the stream with a girlish shriek.

The Hound came hurrying over to them, his armour clanging. Joffrey was flailing in the water, blinded by it and trying to stand up; Arya's skirts were covered in mud, her hair messed up from Joffrey's knees; and Sansa stood barefoot in the mud, shocked that she had truly witnessed what had occurred. The Hound went to Joffrey and hoisted him from the water. He looked like a naked wet rat; Arya clapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself laughing though Sansa saw it perfectly in her sister's eyes. Sandor was going to escort Joffrey back to the inn but the prince shoved him away and stormed off, glaring at Arya and muttering his outrage.

"What happened here, little bird?" The Hound stepped toward Sansa, quelling the laughter inflicted upon her by Arya. "I know you like to sing, so sing me the tale and might be the Queen will take kindly to you." The sound of his voice didn't frighten her half so much as the burned half of his face, though it certainly played a role. Sansa fixed her eyes on her feet, afraid to say anything but knowing that she had to or the Queen would be furious with her for failing to defended her future husband. Sandor turned to Arya. "Are you a song bird too, or a she-wolf?"

"I'm no bird," Arya spat, wiping mud off her dress and eyeing the stream.  _What would she do now_ , Sansa wondered hopelessly.

Sandor growled at Arya, but snapped at Sansa, demanding, "Let's have that song, little bird."

"The prince had fallen in the stream and I feared him hurt." Sansa lied.

"That's not the way of it. Sing me a proper song, little bird."

Sansa made herself look at him as any lady would do. It was only the proper curtesy to give a knight, though the sight of him made her stomach knot. She didn't want to tell him but she desperately wished for him to leave her so she wouldn't have to face him anymore. "Prince Joffrey would push Arya Stark into the stream because she called him a coward of girls."

Arya scoffed behind him, "Only because it's the truth."

"Shut up Arya," Sansa scowled her. She didn't want any more trouble for them.

Sandor narrowed his eyes at her, his burned lips twitching horribly. If he didn't believe her he said nought of it. With a swift, bulky turn of his heel, the Hound stalked off after the prince.

"I can't believe you were looking for more trouble!" Sansa exclaimed in whispers as she cleaned her feet and pulled her boots back on.

Arya cast her elder sister a look of knowing. "You stopped him pushing me in."

Sansa turned her face away, staring at her boot as she laced it. "I did no such thing. It was a clever song for a stupid hound. The prince had fallen in the stream. I called out in case he was hurt."

Arya offered Sansa a hand to help her to her feet. "You're not so clever Sansa, unless you're working your stitches."

"Arya!"

"It's for calling me ugly." Arya said with a mischievous smile, looping her arm through Sansa's own as they walked away from the stream. "You didn't mean your insult either."

[]

Robb was seated in the godswood beneath the bone white branches and blood red leaves of the weirwood. It felt both natural and strange that he should be the one to sit beneath the heart tree in his father's spot. Whenever he had arrived he could see the place where Lord Eddard always sat, as though the ground remembered him well and waited for him to return. Usually he would sit beside the place, but on that day he didn't, for what reasons he knew not.

He was no stranger to the godswood; Robb preferred the old gods to the Seven, though his mother had given up truly teaching Robb of the ways of the new gods. It was a secret the pair of them shared. For him they seemed too complex to be gods he could trust in spiritually. There were too many rules, too many songs and hymns, and too much noise. The old gods were those he chose to place his faith in, and they had been kind to him through his years.

Grey Wind lay beside him, silent and asleep. Robb knew better to believe that was true, but he did not need to take a glance to be aware of the fact. Often his direwolf played at sleep, yet would come to attention should Robb make the slightest movement. Grey Wind was intelligent, protective. He had even been sleeping behind the door of his bedchamber the night Dany had kissed him, when his habit was to sleep on the bed. It was if the direwolf had wanted to let Robb know that he was aware of what might happen and could accommodate the situation.

Not that it had come to that.

Robb had watched Dany kiss Jon goodnight, the way Dany gave kisses to everyone: upon the cheek. It was her way of greeting, of farewell, of excitement, and of apologies. Yet that night he didn't believe he would be able to stomach such a commonplace gesture, not from her. He had missed her deeply, more than he would allow himself to share with Jon, for fear of sounding a woman. When he walked into the kitchens with his half-brother and found the seats at either side of her occupied by his younger siblings he had felt unnatural frustration. For as long as he could recall, Robb always sat beside or across from Dany, but on the eve she had returned, sitting across from her even became too far a distance for him to bear.

His desire had been to slip away whilst she spoke with Jon. He had been nearly successful in the task too. Until she had begun to turn back to face him, offer her goodnight to him. Then he couldn't command his fingers to open the bedchamber nor his feet to carry him inside. When he hugged her she felt as warm as she always was, as warm as her quilt she had lent him, as warm as a ribbon of sunlight. When she spoke he scarce could hear her over the sound of his heart in his ears. Robb felt her body shift, her heels leave the ground so that it was her toes that held her weight. He felt her lips touch his, not a brush or featherlight as were all the other kisses he had received from her on his cheeks. No, that kiss, that night, it had been very real, delicate but alive and full of a love he dared not dream she would return his way.

It had been then that he realized he had feared she might love Jon over him, or rather that he fully acknowledged the possibility. Yet it could not be true. Her kiss erased the possibility. It caused the worry to seep from him, the knowledge of his birthright and responsibility fell away for that moment as he kissed her back with the love he had been longing to share with her but had not found the words or moment to properly do so. When they broke apart no more than a moment could have gone to pass, but it made no difference. She had rested her head against his chest for a while longer, her arms around him as his were around her. Robb was certain she could hear the rhythm of his heart.

"I should go to my bedchambers, before Lord Stark comes across us," she had whispered.

Robb nodded but did not let her go immediately. Some part of him wanted her to stay, to fall asleep beside him in his bed, or ask to do the same in her own. Only to sleep, nothing more, and he would be satisfied beyond measure. He would not let himself voice such vulgar thoughts. Though she had kissed him he was not her husband; Robb would not be the man who shamed and soiled her. It was not simply for his honour as a Stark, but also for her own honour, as a woman, that he refrained from acting on his lust.

"Lady Daenerys," he had whispered into her hair.

Robb felt her smile.

At last he had let her go. As she slipped from his arms the chill that always lingered despite the hot springs found him and settled against his skin and clothes.

"I was told I would find you here," Jon's voice announced his half-brother's arrival before Robb thought to look up and see him. The arrival of his half-brother pulled him from his memory and the silent, wordless prayers. Ghost walked surely beside him, making less noise than Grey Wind, who rose near-soundlessly and walked forward to greet his friend and brother.

"Are you off then?" Robb asked as Jon sat beside him on a bone white root that sat above the ground.

Jon gave a nod, "Aye, within the hour. I hope to know once I arrive if I have been branded a murderer." He turned his face away from Robb, staring off into the godswood before looking back to his boots.

"I know for certain you won't be." Robb said, a faint smile playing at his lips though he tried to hide his pride.

His half-brother saw and looked at him, disbelieving. "You found Lady Catelyn's letters? You couldn't have."

"I did, on my honour as a Stark. I had just finished a letter I planned to send to the Wall asking the Lord Commander to burn anything addressed from Lady Catelyn when the raven I would use leapt into the drawer with the sealing wax and exposed it's false bottom."

Jon's face broke into a smile that did well by his youth. "They were never sent then."

"Aye and never will be. They burned in the hearth Quron used to cook the soup for that evening's supper. None would look there for letters."

Jon was near laughter, "How long ago was this then?"

"Two hours after our father released us from his solar with warning not the speak of the matter to Dany before he could inform her himself."

Jon gave him an incredulous look. "That was before she returned to Winterfell. That's weeks!"

Robb shrugged casually, "I wanted to give you a gift to remember me while you're off protecting the Realm."

At that Jon laughed, giving him a harmless punch. "Aye, as the brother who enjoys manipulating me for personal satisfaction."

"You're satisfied as well." Robb laughed, punching Jon back. "I would say we both came out victors."

They rose to their feet in tandem, and Robb brought Jon into a fierce embrace. "You will do us proud. I know you shall. On your honour as a Snow, the only Snow ever raised amongst direwolves."

"I'll miss you all,"

"Aye, as we all will miss you." They broke the embrace. Robb looked at his half-brother seriously, because it was of great import that Jon knew the truth of his leaving. "Don't go believing that Winterfell will celebrate your departure. Not for a moment."

Jon gave a nod. He appreciated hearing that spoken in Robb's voice. "I fear Quron will be ushering you from the kitchens more than not, perhaps I should stay?" It was a jest, they both knew.

"Go, be a man of the Night's Watch. Let your Black Brother's know that the House Stark has not forgotten them, should ever they have cause to summon for aid."

Robb spoke the way their father did. His voice was growing more gruff and certain with each passing fortnight, and he held himself in the manner of a true lord. "I will remember," Jon assured him, yet he felt the need to say one thing further, "You will do the Watch proud, as Warden of the North."

His half-brother gave a nod and Jon turned to take his leave. He knew Robb would not follow him, would not see him off at the gates of Winterfell and perhaps it was for the best. Jon had so many memories of his brother in the yards and grounds of the castle, but nought of Robb in the godswood. He had been at peace in that place, beneath the old gods, the gods of the Stark House. It would be better to have that memory also, for when the years aged them both into who they were yet to become.

[]

Jon found Dany within the stables, speaking with the boy from Winter Town who would be riding with Jon and some Stark men to the Wall. He was an orphan that went by the name Moxley, his face a detailed battlefield of pox scarring. He was already astride his horse, dressed in clothes warm enough for Winter Town but not likely warm enough for the Wall. As Jon approached them Dany was handing over a cloak lined with fur.

"It will serve you well until you say your vows."

"No milady, I couldn't." Moxley was saying even as he took the warm fabric from her ungloved hands.

Dany smiled at the boy, who was twelve if one took his word on the matter. "You can and you shall. I have plenty, and you have need for one. Go now, they wait for you at the gates." Moxley nodded and awkwardly directed his horse in that direction.

"If there were more Targaryen's like you there never would have been a war." Jon told her.

She smiled and it lightened her eyes some in the dim shadows. "You are too generous. Do you think they would knight you if you proved yourself worthy? Bran would be absolutely delighted to have a knight as a brother, Rickon as well."

Jon chuckled, playing along with her stalling because in truth he could not bring himself to break her heart. She was the best of them at times, and the best of him mostly, side by side with Robb. Without them, he might not be standing where he stood, an honourable young man who had chosen to go to the Wall and serve the Realm. If he could say goodbye to Robb, he could say goodbye to Dany. He had to.  _It's only for a little while, until I'm no longer green._

"I'll have to ask, for certain. If I were to become a knight, Bran might see me as his favourite instead of you."

"Are you vying for my position as the favourite silver-haired girl?"

"Perhaps." He grinned and brought her into a gentle embrace; she face found the curve of his neck and rested there, comfortable, familiar. "I will come back," he told her.

"You'll have to. Don't you believe for an instant that Winterfell will grow brighter in your absence, Jon Snow. Don't you dare." Her voice choked a bit but when she drew back her face was smooth and composed.  _Don't go believing that Winterfell will celebrate your departure. Not for a moment._ Those had been Robb's words, spoken only a collection of moments prior. They really were the best of each other too, not just of him. It was enough to make Jon happy for them.

"I swear, I shan't."

Dany gave a nod, "Good. Now go on, before your journeymen take leave without you."

She stood back as he swung himself into the saddle of his horse, and watched him direct the beast toward the gates. Even as she smiled she felt the first of her tears fall from her eyes, but they were all that were shed. Dany was happy for Jon, happy that he had found a path to travel in life that would offer him all he deserved. As the small group of men departed, Jon stole a last glance. She lifted her hand and waved, and then he was gone.

[]

"Are you well, milady?"

Dany turned to find a stable hand looking at her with concern. She brought a hand to her head unknowingly and nodded. "I am well, thank you for your concern."

The man gave her a last lingering look of uncertainty and returned to his responsibilities. Dany walked from the stables, set on returning to the castle. She  _was_  feeling a touch light of head; perhaps she would rest and summon maester Luwin should she not feel better afterward.

A hammer crashed down on steel off in the armoury which sat across the yard. The sound jarred her head, blinding her a moment. Dany gasped at the pain, suddenly feeling too warm, much too warm.

"Milady?"

She couldn't place the voice, her head to heavy to move, as though she had taken milk of the poppy and it was pulling her into sleep. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of her cloak, letting it fall to the ground behind her as she stumbled forward.  _The castle._

"Lady Daenerys?"

That wasn't Robb's voice. Where was Robb? Bran? Rickon? Lord Eddard? Dany released the buttons that fastened the collar about her throat.  _Robb?_ Too hot, much too hot. Another jarring pain struck her head in time with the crash of the blacksmith's hammer.

_Robb!_

The last thing she heard as she collapsed was the familiar voice that could only cry out: "Hodor!"


	8. Dreams of Fire upon High Walls

**Dreams of Fire upon High Walls**

Dany stared at the direwolf, curious. She had been in the yard, walking from the stables when the creature came from the direction of the godswood. Grey Wind was never without Robb, the two fast friends since the day the pups were brought home to Winterfell. The sight of the dark grey beast alone sent fingers of worry across Dany's stomach and heart.  _Where's Robb, Grey Wind?_  She asked kindly. The direwolf was friendly toward her. All the direwolves were.

The creature sat on its haunches and let out a single worrisome moan. Dany stepped closer to him; when she she felt as though she stayed in the air a while too long. The direwolf stopped his note and stood. He tilted his head to the side and looked at her, as if to ask why she didn't understand. She followed with increasing panic as Grey Wind hurried back toward the godswood.

Amongst the trees and across a pond the weirwood stood bone white, almost glowing. It's dark red leaves shifted in the breeze, though it was so faint that Dany couldn't feel it. A warmth spread from her chest up her neck and vanished, leaving her slightly cooler than before.  _Robb?_ Dany called as she approached, rubbing her arms with her hands to fight the sudden chill. There was a figure seated beneath the tree, among the roots, but she couldn't make out who it was with all the shadows. "Robb?" _Are you all right?_

Grey Wind froze beside her and growled, the fur along his back rising. It made her weary, but she had to know. Grey Wind snapped his jaws, barking a warning. Dany stopped.

 _Are you afraid Daenerys?_ It wasn't Robb who spoke, she knew instantly. The voice was too high, too lavish and foreign.  _Don't be afraid, Daenerys._

 _Who are you?_  she demanded, stepping back in line with Grey Wind but when she glanced at the direwolf, he'd gone. A crow  _cawed_  at her horribly, taking flight and beating his wings in her face as she stepped away.

A crackling laugh like embers of a fire cast the shadows from the godswood. The darkened figure was gone from the roots of the weirwood, flown up by rope wings to hang from it's branches. The jolt the corpse gave tugged Dany a step forward against her desires.

_You don't remember me, Daenerys? You don't remember your own brother?_

The corpse laughed again, black blood coming forth from blackened lips. Under the noose Dany could see where the blade had cut through flesh. The wound was rotted and maggots crawled amongst the skin. A quick burst of heat touched her own throat serving to inform her of the sickness rolling viciously in her stomach.

 _You are no brother of mine,_  she gasped, falling to her knees. The grass that was always forgiving sent sharp cords of pain as though she had landed on stone. Her eyes wouldn't turn from those of the pale-haired man. Eyes like her own.

_Those wolves you play with are no brothers to you. Dragons cannot drown, Daenerys. Dragons cannot burn and they cannot die._

_Drown, burn, die,_  a raven  _quorked_  beside her. Another took up the chant when it landed on her shoulder. She shrieked in surprise, swatting at the birds. They took flight and landed on the corpse swaying slightly to and fro.  _Good,_  she thought, until one bird pecked out an eye and the other took a strip of flesh from his cheek. She screamed, a fire lacing her throat as her stomach rebelled. When she turned her face away another raven  _quorked_ in surprise, the eye of the corpse in it's beak.

Dany screamed again, fighting to shout,  _You were a dragon and you died._

The corpse laughed, blood bubbling from his bottom lip, the only lip he had left, ignoring her.  _Where are your wolves now, Daenerys? Have they fled from the war that comes for them?_

 _There is no war!_  Dany shouted, defiant as she was terrified. The weirwood stood, staring at her with it's red face that hadn't frightened her since first she saw it as a small girl. It frightened her now as it laughed deep and ancient. How could the old gods have brought such a monstrous being to her when she had done all she was asked to do?  _Learn from your history Daenerys, and take care to carve a path separate from it, so that the Realm might see that Targaryen need not be a name they fear._  Lord Eddard had said those words to her, so long ago.

The ravens and crows tore more strips from the corpse. There were dozens of them now, appeared from nowhere. Dany scrambled away from the weirwood and the corpse but the ground held her fast, dragging her closer to the pond like a living monster of its own.

_Drown, burn, die._

_There is a war, sweet sister, for there is no dragon upon the Iron Throne._  The corpse fell from the branches of the heart tree the way a puppet falls when it's strings are cut. Dany struggled hopelessly; the corpse crawled toward her, the retched ravens feasting on the flesh of his legs.  _And in this war the North will perish first-_

 _Liar!_ Dany screeched at him, kicking at his reaching, bloody fingers.

_-All your wolves will burn and drown in the treachery they have sown-_

"Liar!" Dany's voice was shrill as she repeated the word over and over, thrashing.

- _She birthed this war, and the North must bleed with her!_ The corpse pushed past Dany's struggling kicks, crawling over her cold and horrid, the smell of rot burning her eyes and lungs. It was all she could do to direct her face away from the monster and scream. _  
_

Water began to soak through the bottom of her skirts. _Drown, burn, die,_ those foul birds screeched, blackening the sky from view. Dany began to sob, heavy sobs that rattled her body in it's entirety.  _Bleed, bleed, bleed._

 _Only you can change_   _that_...The corpse whispered, it's bloody face brushing against her own. A skeleton hand pinched her face, forcing her to see him. He came close for a kiss, sneering.  _The Last Dragon._

[-x-]

Robb turned when Grey Wind stood abruptly. "What is it boy?" The direwolf didn't so much as glance over at him. Instead he started for the castle yard, leaving Robb to catch up. Grey Wind moved quick and stealth; the closer Robb came to the yard the more audible the voices became. There was a panic to them, a chaos that made Robb move faster.

"Hodor! Hodor!" The lack wit stable boy was shouting. When he came into Robb's line of sight Grey Wind had nearly reached him. A crowd of people - household servants, blacksmiths, stablehands, guards - had gathered around him. Someone called for maester Luwin, another for Lord Eddard. Robb wanted to run forward, but forced himself to maintain a brisk stride. A young lord must maintain control in uncertain situations and times of fear. He approached and those gathered quickly fell away to let him past to the core of the problem.

Hodor was on his knees in the dirt, panicking under the stares and murmurs of the crowd. Dany lay in his arms, entirely limp. Her cloak lay a few feet behind where she'd fallen, the neck of her dress ruined. The sight of her made Robb's breathing snag like a loose stitch on rough brick. "What happened here?" He demanded, staying his distance from Hodor to keep from frightening the stableboy further. His voice commanded response, and it was evident from his expression that to be denied such would have grievous consequence.

Roggen, another stablehand, stepped forward to speak. He tried to look at Robb as he did but his voice was teeming with fear and upset; Robb assessed fairly that he had played no role in her state of health and undress. "Lady Daenerys said her farewells to Jon Snow and then she got real wobbly in the legs milord. She was saying she was fine and then she didn't look it milord. She got right white and gasped like we'd hit her with a horseshoe milord but we ne'er did no such things. Then she was falling and was right 'bout to crack her head on them there mucking rods when Hodor done caught 'er milord."

Robb listened and gave Roggen a nod of thanks; the stablehand stepped back into his place amongst those gathered, relieved to not have been punished for anything. As resolved as he could muster, he said with an air of authority, "You all will return to your duties unless there are those with further claims to witness." The people began shuffling away until no one remained. Roggen appeared ill, but most like the cause was guilt for not having done more to aid Dany.

Hodor seemed intent on following but when Dany shifted as he moved he froze, fearful. "Hodor?" he asked Robb.

"I shall take her, Hodor, then you may go." The stableboy nodded, thankful. Robb knelt and slid his arms under Dany's knees and around her shoulders. When he rose her head rolled against his chest, her chin resting along the bone of her collar. She was light, unburdened by the cloak and gloves.  _Her skirts are thinner than those of my sisters and lady mother,_  Robb speculated, recalling how once he had lifted Sansa and all her weight was in her skirts.

"Roggen, were people sent to gather master Luwin and my lord father?"

The stablehand nodded, "Aye there were."

"Thank them for me," Robb said, "and thank you, for paying your witness."

He started off toward the castle, a pair of guards in tow, destined for maester Luwin and his lord father, whom he suspected would be in the tower where the ravens were kept. "Robb," Dany's voice was faint, listless and murky.

"I'm here, Dany," Robb told her, staring down on her face. A stray ribbon of light caught the edge of the weirwood pendant she wore. Yet Dany couldn't hear him, or she didn't answer. She remained limp in his arms as he strode for help. His father and master Luwin both appeared at the top of the stairs when he reached the bottom.

"Robb? What is happened?" Lord Eddard asked, his voice grave.

Robb shook his head like a child, composing himself before saying, "I have the account from Roggen. Dany is suddenly ill, he would have it known. From healthy farewell to sickly collapse in moments."

Lord Stark cast a look at maester Luwin, who nodded and gestured Robb forward. His father walked toward him, studying how Dany lay uncloaked and dress-frayed in his arms. He told Robb, "I will hear it as he tells the tale and you shall tell me as he had told you. I would hear no lie on the matter."

"Aye, father," Robb said and Lord Eddard continued for the stables, taking the guards away with him, while Robb brought Dany quickly after maester Luwin. When they arrived in the chamber where all of maester Luwin's potions and ointments were kept Robb laid her on the stone table. Her body jerked violently when the cool stone touched her skin. Robb's eyes went wide but he reigned in his fear. It would serve no use to fear like a woman.

Maester Luwin walked to his table of jars and asked Robb, "They said she collapsed?"

"That she grew weak of knee and white of face. That she gasped as though she had been struck but none touched her. Then she was said to fall."

"Did she strike her head?"

"It is said Hodor caught her fall. He had marks on his legs as proof. The boy may be lack wit but he understands enough. I am sure he played no role." Luwin nodded, gathering herbs and jars. Robb spoke without intention to interrupt the maester's thoughts. He felt there was relevance in the statement. "She spoke a word to me as I made for the castle. She spoke my name, but she was neither awake nor did she hear me."

The maester gave Robb a long stare, setting his instruments down. "She spoke through her sleep to you? There is no record of her having done so in the past..."

"Liar," Dany muttered, her body shifting slightly. Robb stepped forward, taking her hand in his own. She was unnaturally warm, even by her standard.

"A fever, perhaps?"

Luwin nodded subtly enough, not looking at Robb as he did. Instead his gaze fell on the north faced window. "Perhaps. I will have to send a letter, to be sure."

"A letter for a fever? Maester Luwin, you have dealt with our own fevers over and again with no need for letters."

"Aye, that may be the way of it, but Lady Targaryen is no Stark. The northern blood does not flow in her veins, but the blood of the dragon is there."

"Liar," Dany repeated, moving more though her eyes remained shut fast. "Liar, liar, liar! Liar!" She shouted, her body thrown into great thrashing movements. She would have fallen from the table had Robb not held her hand and prevented her doing so. When she turned back to him her face wore such terror that he had not seen how her hand was clawed nor how it arched like an arrow. Her nails tore into his cheek, his collar, before Robb could grab her wrist. Still she screamed "Liar!" and kicked.

Maester Luwin was too aged to be chanced, so Robb threw his weight over her, pinning her to the table as best he could without hurting her. Like he had done with Arya whenever he had tickled her, and Jon when they were young boys and wrestled. "Maester Luwin, help!" Robb shouted. There had to be  _something_  that would stop her madness.

"Liar! Liar! LIAR!" Her scream had such a pitch that maester Luwin covered his ears, turning away in his own pain. Robb wished he had such opportunity, fearing blood would come from his ears as he bowed his head to his chest in a fruitless attempt to escape the noise.

The last note of her voice hung high and ringing in the chamber but it was the last of them. When the silence settled Dany was calm, and the boiling heat snuck from her fingers and wrists. Her head turned to one side in sleep, and she was at peace, the horror fled from her face.

His father stormed into the chamber with five of the household guard in tail, stricken with fear. Robb saw through fast-fading pain-blurred vision how his father took in the scene before him and quickly dismissed the men that had come to the cries. Closing the door behind him, Ned walked sure-footed to maester Luwin who had crouched against the wall in his own fear.

"Are you well Luwin?"

Breathing heavily, maester Luwin pulled himself to standing once again. "Aye, my lord. The intensity of her screaming was, it was unlike any I have heard in my years."

Lord Stark nodded, turning next to Robb as he climbed from the table to stand properly before his father. "What happened that required such action on your part?"

"I don't know Father. Maester Luwin and I were exchanging ideas, my knowledge of the incident with his knowledge as a maester. I had mentioned a fever perhaps, but our discussion of such was met by her mutterings and they grew louder until she became a danger to herself and both of us as well. I would not have maester Luwin compromised, so I did what I thought was reasonable to protect him from her and her from herself."

"Yet you bear injuries of your own."

Robb looked confused, yet even so he lifted a hand to the place were her nails had cut him. To touch them didn't hurt but they stung some; he said, "Better me than maester Luwin. There are not many maesters these days who would part with the sweetness of the crown lands for anyplace north of the Twins. You have said as much in the past."

His father nodded slowly, "As much is still true. You have my thanks, son, for sparring maester Luwin the worst of this."

Robb gave a curt nod, "Of course."

"You will be tended to, then you may take your leave. There are dealings I wish to speak on with Luwin in private."

Tones of despair and annoyance wove through him before they took flight and vanished.  _If Father wished for me to know, he would not send me away. If Father knew how I felt toward Daenerys, he would grant me leave to remain close._ Robb could only nod stiffly, standing stock still as maester Luwin put a salve on the cuts that caused them to heat with a sudden flare.  _Hot as Dany's hands had been._

"I would not bandage them, but the salve will prevent any infection until they heal. I will have to reapply it each night and morning," Maester Luwin said, his hands leaving Robb's face.

"I understand. I will do to be here at those times, fear not." Robb bowed and took his leave.

His son's single, seemingly instinctive, glance toward Daenerys before he closed the door was all that was needed for Ned to understand what it was, in a way, he had always suspected.

The two men waited in silence for the sound of Robb's footfalls to fade, and a while longer afterward. When they finally began speaking, it was maester Luwin who spoke first. "Even you must admit how strange the events are, Lord Stark."

The grave expression on the maester's face was not lost on Ned Stark, nor could he deny the presence of his own uncertainty. Aside from his beloved Catelyn, it was the maester who saw most of his doubts and worries, as he did now. "Aye, fear not, Luwin. The events are strange enough for any man blind or deaf to be made aware. Direwolves south of the Wall, Viserys Targaryen arrived and slain, proclamation of dragons eggs never found after his removal, and now Daenerys collapses in light of day, not a hand to push her nor signs of fever to proceed such." Ned pinched the bridge of his nose before going on. "What would you make of them?"

The maester sighed heavily, the way a man who wears all the metals of his trade in a chain is wont to do. "She is not a Stark, and though I trained to be a maester to all people, of every House great and small, and to the smallfolk no different, I have regrettably grown accustomed to the nature of northern folk and their ailments."

"Daenerys has spent not a single day in near seventeen years in the south. If the tales are to be believed she hardly lived a day on southron land before she was vanished amongst the folds of the sea. She is no more a southron girl than either Sansa or Arya. Cat has more of the southron way in her than Daenerys."

"Be that as it may, yet the blood doesn't lie, my lord." Maester Luwin walked around the table where Dany lay still and sleeping. Her air moved through her steady, slow. Beneath the nails of one hand's fingers, blood was crusting where she had dug into the flesh of Robb's face in her struggles before the terrors subsided. He began to cleanse her hands as he spoke on, "There are mentions, rumours within the Citadel amongst the brothers who study for their link of Valyrian steel. Talk of the Targaryens who lived and died in Valyria before the Doom. It is believed by some that there was a tendency, though quite uncommon even amongst their own blood, for some to be gifted with dreams of prophecy."

Ned listened carefully, weighing each word in turn. "Dreams of prophecy?"

"Indeed, Lord Stark, though we have also termed them dreams of fire. Their prophets names are lost to us, gone in the destruction of the Lands of the Long Summer, though it is believed that it was Daenys Targaryen whose last known dream of prophecy foretold of the coming Doom and saved her House."

"Do you believe that this has occurred in her, these dreams." Ned asked.

Maester Luwin took his hand from Dany's forehead, knotting his fingers together in front of his robes. "I would hesitate to confirm without a second opinion, but for the sake of now, my answer would be yes. All signs would suggest it."

Ned nodded, "To whom must you write for this opinion?"

"The only other maester I am certain has his link of Valyrian steel, and whose knowledge of Targaryen history outweighs that of my own. It was his House, before he devoted himself to the Citadel."

Ned rose, nodding again. "Be sure to write Maester Aemon quickly, and pray tell him no word of this must leave his stewards mouths to anyone else."

[][]

The song of steel rang through the yard as Jon met every thrust of Samwell's blade. It was an easy enough task, like taking a bath or breathing. Sam didn't move as fast as Jon would have liked, nor did he wield a sword with any amazing feats of strength or reflex, but at least he was better than yesterday.

They were practicing beyond the time the master-at-arms, Ser Alliser Thorne, attended to them and the other recruits. Sam had watched the other boys go, desperate to run off with them and might well have done had Jon not barred the way with his sword and armour, intimidating as Thorne but without all the added cruelty.

"Yield!" Sam cried as his foot fell from under him, sending him hard to the ground.

Jon sheathed his blade and shook his head, offering him a hand up. "That was better, Sam. You are getting better."

"I feel like I'm doing worse." Sam said, puffing as he bent to retrieve his own blade.

"Only because you're new to this. I wasn't a fraction as good as I am now back when we were first allowed to practice with real metal swords in Winterfell."

"When was that?" Sam asked, following Jon to the center of the yard again.

Jon thought a moment, then told him, "Robb and I were ten."

Sam groaned, "That's near seven years of practice! And you had someone of age with you to practice. How am I to catch up?"

"Sam, I am of age with you, and I didn't spend all my time practicing. You will improve with time and practice and patience. Until then, I'll match you strike for strike." Jon restored his half-helm to his head and drew his sword. "A good man once told me the best way to learn to fight was to learn to defend because it gives you the opportunity to learn the dance. Draw your blade, we'll go once more, then food."

Sam swallowed thickly, nodding so that his chins jiggled slightly. "Once more," he said, readying his sword.

From the armoury Lord Commander Mormont watched Jon and Sam with the company of Bowen. They watched for a long while, as Jon commanded the clash of swords, shouting his encouragements, his critics, and further encouragements. The Lord Commander watched as Jon made no mistakes in his footing, his defensive reflexes nor his sword arm swings. They were intermediate at best, but better than most who came to the Wall willing or otherwise. And he watched as Jon loosened the hold on his blade just enough for Samwell to bring his blade down and disarm him.

"Yield!" Jon shouted, getting Sam's attention so he opened his eyes to see what he had done.

"No," Sam whispered, dropping his own sword in his surprise. "No, that's not possible. You let me win-"

"Did not. How are you going to learn if I let you win, Sam? It was my mistake, readjusting my sword hand too late to be ready."

Sam still looked a bit skeptical, but he seemed willing enough to accept the lie as truth. "So I disarmed you then, by mistake I mean, not skill."

Jon shrugged, taking Sam's hand to pull himself up. "Doesn't matter. Great swordsmen are killed often for their mistakes. Lucky for me, you're on my side."

Sam's face slowly took to grinning, "Yeah, yeah you're right."

Jon grinned with him, gathering his sword and clapping him on the shoulder. "Little steps. It was a mistake today, but perhaps in a fortnight it will be pure skill. You mustn't judge your progress by the days but by the years. That's something I learned myself, many times, from Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms in Winterfell."

The two started back for the armoury. Sam said, "It's just hard to imagine you not good at this."

Jon chuckled, "You think you were bad at swords when you first came here? You should have seen me in archery when I was younger. Ten times worse than your absolute worst, I lie to you not."  _  
_

That had Sam laughing well and good. "It's horribly awful."

"It was an ungodly sight to see, for certain," Jon said, laughing with his friend. When he saw the two men in the armoury he put a hand on Sam's shoulder, saying, "Bowen, Lord Commander Mormont."

"Boys," Mormont said, stepping aside as Ghost whispered past to fall in line beside Jon, "Don't worry after me, I was just on a walk."

" _Corn_ _, corn, corn,"_ the raven at his shoulder  _quorked._

"I hope you were not disappointed with what you saw." Jon said politely while Sam grabbed for words that couldn't find him. He gave Jon an appreciative look from the corner of his eye.

The Lord Commander gave a nod, "I was not," and motioned for Bowen to follow him as they took leave of the armoury.

Once they were gone Samwell sat and began to remove his armour, asking Jon, "What do you think he was doing?"

"I don't doubt that he was only watching. My lord father did so often, just to see for himself what it was our guards could do."

[]

Sansa couldn't sleep. King's Landing was so alive and busy; from her window she could see people moving about in the narrow streets of the city, however faintly, marked by tiny torches and lamps. People were walking about in the yards of the Red Keep as well, guards in their enamelled armours of white and gold and crimson. Lannister men, and men of the Kings Guard. There were no Baratheon men, she noted, unless they were the men in standard armour.  _Perhaps they are all well employed in Dragonstone with Stannis and Renley._

With a romantic sign Sansa padded back to her bed and fell upon it, only to rise shortly afterward to stare at her door. She was most certain she had heard a noise.  _Only a guard, silly girl. You are_ not _a silly songbird girl, don't act the part,_ she scolded herself, laying down once again.

Outside in the corridor Arya crept along the stones, keeping to the walls and out of the light of the hanging torches. She couldn't sleep no matter how hard she tried. The castle was awake the way Winterfell never was at night. At home, only the guards with the watch were awake, and they were good and quiet enough, standing guard on the walls that protected the castle, only sometimes walking down the corridors.

The Red Keep had guards moving everywhere all at once, and they were so loud it was hard to believe anyone should be asleep. When at last she had given up trying, she snuck from her room and past her guard, destined to find if Sansa was awake as well.

Knocking on the door, Arya whispered as loud as she dared, "Sansa, it's Arya, open the door."

It took a moment, but when the door opened Arya slipped inside so she could speak freely. Sansa stared at her seemingly annoyed. "Were you asleep?" Arya asked.

Sansa rolled her eyes but she said, "Of course I couldn't have been. This castle doesn't seem to know what sleep is. Nor do you, it would seem."

"You're not sleeping either, so you can't go saying I'm no proper lady."

"Well a proper lady would have sat in her room regardless of sleep." Sansa said defiantly, yet she smiled at the absurdity of her comment. She'd only said it to say what Arya expected to hear - some scolding or another - but it was all in jest.

Her younger sister beamed, that mischief creeping into her eyes the way it always does when she's about to suggest they do something that breaks the rules. "Do you want to go find the godswood? I hear they have one with a weirwood that they didn't cut down like all the others."

Sansa sighed. "I'd have to dress,"

"I can wait."

"You're not dressed either."

Arya shrugged, "I don't  _have_ to dress. People expect very little of my lady-like abilities, so I've learned."

Sansa giggled, rolling her eyes once again because Arya was the only person to whom she ever rolled her eyes. It wasn't particularly lady-like, but it was an interesting way to show exasperation or feign annoyance. With Arya, she allowed herself the pleasure. "You'll have to put something more on. Here, but you must promise me you won't ruin it like you ruin all my things." Sansa handed Arya a simple dress to fit over her night clothes.

Arya was small enough that she needed only to pull it over her head to get it on. "I promise Sansa," she said, fixing her hair and straightening the clothes.

Sansa gave her a look, walking around her to give a full inspection before she nodded her approval. There was no use having Arya spin so Sansa didn't have to walk. It would cause bickering, which they couldn't afford given the hour nor their scheming; and Sansa didn't enjoy bickering with Arya as much as it seemed she sought to.

Slipping into a proper dress, Sansa had Arya help her fasten it before they poked their heads into the corridor and hurried away in search for the godswood.

[]

"Varys, what part of 'I want the informant's head' was misunderstood?" King Robert demanded, bringing a fist to the table.

The eunuch took the tone in stride, pressing his fingers together at their tips. "I understand Your Grace, only these things take time."

"Then I suggest you hurry, Lord Varys, before the king decides your head will do well enough." Tyrion Lannister said indifferently, seated lazily in the chair across from the eunuch. The long final day of travel had done little to turn the King from his quests for revenge, something Tyrion had learned (quite surprisingly) that not even the offer of ale or wine could sate. With a flick of his fingers he said, "That means go, now."

The bald man looked from Tyrion to Robert and bowed deeply, saying only, "As my King and little lord command," before scurrying off. Tyrion took a long draw of wine from his cup, smiling.

"Little lord, ha," King Robert chuckled. "You might be little but your mouth is large enough to amend for your stature."

Tyrion made himself smile, "Ah, but a large mouth is not without a large mind, and as one might have noticed, my head is larger than most mens."

The king laughed at that, heaving himself from his seat, "Too right. Enough talk, it bores me. I'll be needing meat and mead before I retire for the evening..."

Tyrion watched the king take his leave, servants in tow before he rose himself. He bid Jon Arryn goodnight, apologizing for having woken him at such an hour for such a trivial matter. Tyrion could hardly understand what good it was to start the search for the whisperer now as opposed to the morrow, but he was in no position to question the whims of a king. In Tyrion's own opinion, let the dead rest.

Viserys Targaryen had been slain before he could do more than kill a pair of guards, by the young lord Stark and his bastard brother Snow no less.  _Quite a show they made of it too, giving a trial to appease the Lord Eddard before cutting his throat to appease the king._  Naturally the Starks would remain loyal to the crown, yet that was not the root of Robert's upset. Perhaps it was the fact that the Starks had not told him of the Targaryen girl themselves, though it was more likely the king was enraged that someone could carry rumours through his halls while he remained unaware.  _Though why that should ever surprise him, the gods would be the only to know._

In the yards Tyrion set course for his bedchamber, intent on a night of wine and reading, and perhaps sleep should he find any. He walked past a pair of guards, acknowledging their standard greeting though he heard their mockery plain enough.  _Imp, dwarf, monster,_   _oh the trials of my being born a Lannister, making them unable to ridicule me outright._ It was a grim satisfaction to have.

Tyrion waddled at a leisurely pace, turning his head to the left at the sound of whispering girls. In the shadows of one of the buildings two hooded figures stood, one taller than the other, speaking rushed and quiet. "Who might you two be then?" he asked, approaching.

The taller one clapped a hand over her mouth, but reached out and stopped the other from darting away as she had plainly intended. "Don't you dare, you promised."

"Did not," the short one retorted.

The tall one didn't release her hold on the smaller until she had said, "My name is Sansa Stark, Lord Tyrion. This is my sister Arya." Tyrion looked to Arya, who seemed immediately more willing to stick around now that she knew who he was.

"Ladies of Stark. I don't believe we had the fortune of meeting on our journey south." Tyrion extended a hand, which Sansa took, a blush creeping through her cheeks. Her sister Arya took it as well, glancing at Sansa before she awkwardly mimed the greeting movements, save the blush. "Are you aware of the hour by chance?"

"Yes," Arya said first, courtesies abandoned, "but your city is too loud, so we were looking for the godswood."

Sansa sighed, a disappointment blending with an exhaustion as though she had spoke her sister's name in such a manner for much of her young life, "Arya,"

Arya shrugged at her sister, "Well it's the truth."

Tyrion smiled at them, "Ah, a truth I am aware of as well. Much of my life has been spent in this terribly loud capital. The noise will come to leave you alone with time, I assure you."

"It is kind for you to say, my lord." Sansa said, her voice sweet yet crisp, the air of the north still lingering over her.

"You spoke of the godswood? Might you allow me to show you the way?" Tyrion asked politely, though in part it was the furthest desire from his mind.  _Yet part of you wishes to do nothing more than walk them to the godswood. Better than drinking alone._

Arya nodded, excited, and looked to her sister, expectant. A smile spread over Sansa's face as well, though when she nodded it was done with a practiced grace void of childish jerkiness. "If you would be so kind. You have our thanks, my lord."

"Tyrion, please. My sister would tear at her precious hair to hear me called a lord in anything less than mockery." It was true but he spoke it as a jest, not intending to instil a guilt or embarrassment in the older Stark girl.

He walked them to the godswood as promised; with him leading them, none questioned why they were out of bed, not asleep, or unguarded. While Arya watched his walking habits with great curiosity, Sansa admired his influence despite his size. Taller men, older men, they all greeted him with respect and dignity they would bestow any normal sized gentlemen. It amazed her for a reason she wasn't quite certain of. When they arrived Tyrion announced, "My fair ladies, the godswood of King's Landing."

"Thank you!" Arya said with a careless smile, hurrying inside with all the confidence of an unruly child.

Sansa began to roll her eyes but stopped herself, giving her head a tiny shake before smiling at him. Then something overtook her. Whether it was a strong desire to have been able to say farewell to Dany, or to be as confident and sure a lady as she was Sansa wasn't sure. Yet she wished for nothing more than to make a good impression on the royal family, to have them love her.

Sansa moved her skirts and knelt, kissing him feather-light on the cheek with a grace she feared she might never have come to possess. Her poor heart was alive with her fear, but when she didn't make a fool of herself as she believed she would, a fresh smile overcame her, colouring her cheeks a lovely pink. "My thanks, Tyrion."

Tyrion could not manage the words to respond to her, only able to watch her follow after her sister. No woman who wasn't a whore had ever dared to kiss him before. If it was a mockery of sorts, he could not detect her malice.  _Perhaps it's not a cruel jape,_ he dared to believe for a moment. Tyrion knew it wasn't a northern custom, having just been and returned from the region.

After a while he found he hadn't moved from the entrance to the godswood.  _Foolish dwarf, foolish little man._  Tyrion turned back to the towers, knowing well that he would not find sleep tonight as he had hoped.

[]

He had been forbidden to see her for near three weeks after her collapse. The guards stationed outside of her bedchamber door permitted only his lord father and maester Luwin, and Robb was left to fear the worst of things. One evening he sat in the kitchens at the servants table where he knew he would not be found. Grey Wind was roaming the castle, aware that Quron forbid the animals to come near where the food was prepared.

"Why does the young lord sulk so?" Quron asked after the rest of the staff had gone for the night.

Robb looked up from the pale white and gold stone that sat on the table in front of him to look at the cook. "I do not sulk. I'm afraid for her."

"You say as much, yet your brothers go about their day with strength and here you sit, alone in the kitchens with a dragon egg for company, and a lowborn cook to speak with. If you were truly fearful, you would search for answers." Quron said, giving him a knowing look while wiping down the counters.

Robb adjusted himself so that he faced Quron directly so as to not be rude. "I have searched. None know what has happened save my lord father and maester Luwin. Men speculate it to be a fever because of what transpired by the stables,"

"Though this you are not believing."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. If she were with fever she would have been dead years past. She has always been too warm compared to other folk. The day she fell I felt the heat boil under her skin and vanish quick as though she had been bathed in ice. No fever can make a person do that."

Quron shrugged, "Then maybe this is no fever and you are needing other answers."

Robb eyed the cook carefully, "Do you know anything Quron? You deliver meals to her chamber, you must."

"Only when she is awake to eat them. There is no wasting of food."

"Can you tell me anything at all? Please, I would know only enough so that my fear can be quelled, nothing further."

Quron glanced toward the doors before taking up a seat across from Robb and leaning close. "There is no fever in the dragon born. Fire, yes, but not the fires of a fever."

"Fire?"

"Aye, in the dragon born," Quron said, pressing the tips of his fingers to the dragon egg and pushing it closer to Robb. Then Quron rose and indicated Robb do the same. "It is time for sleeping, young lord. Perhaps a dream will grant you guidance if none can be found from your gods."

Robb nodded, only vaguely aware of having done so, of where he was headed toward. He brought the stone - dragon egg - to his face. Feeling ridiculous he pressed an ear to it. Nothing.  _It's only a stone. If it once held a dragon, the beast is long in his grave._  Yet still he wondered. Jon had believed them dragon's eggs as well, saying that once the air had settled it was Dany who should have them as they had their direwolves. If there could be dragons again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I apologize in advance that updates will be slow coming as the plot thickens and as my university year gathers speed. Bear with me and know I appreciate your feedback, favourites, and all the rest.


	9. Dark Nights Prelude Dark Words

**Dark Nights Prelude Dark Words**

Catelyn rose before the first morning light, dressed and went down from her room with her things in tow, determined to put the inn behind her. It was not that she held a distaste for inns and the company they attracted, but rather she was in a foul mood ever since leaving Winterfell to begin with. How Ned could have agreed to allowing the king to drag her all the way to the capital only to send her straight back north was beyond her understanding. Whatever lesson  _that_  had taught, Catelyn was unaware.

Yet even in her sour spirits, Catelyn found the best in the endeavour, having commanded her honour guard to take her to Riverrun where she might treat with her father Lord Hoster and brother Edmure for a few nights before returning the rest of the way with guards of her father's choosing. That would make her both more comfortable and put her in better spirits. It had been too long since she had last seen her father, and the guards she had now were Lannister men, hardly the company she wished to keep.

They travelled in relative silence, a few of the guards speaking amongst themselves but none speaking to her for more than to ask after her wellbeing. When they spoke to her she gave them a polite yet curt response, one that indicated without being overtly rude that she did not wish to speak with any of them. The soon she was released from their protection the more content she would allow herself to be.

At dusk the castle of Riverrun came into view, and though the men wished to rest Catelyn urged them onward. These lands had not changed since she had been a young girl. Losing their way was impossible; the road that lead to Riverrun was as familiar to her as the curls of Robb's hair, the song of Sansa's voice, the strength of Ned's loving arms.

"Halt, who wishes to pass?"

"The Lady Catelyn Stark and her honour guard." Catelyn said when the Tully guards approached. They gave her guards a lengthy look, smiling warm enough at her, and finally admitted them. In the yards beyond the castle walls Catelyn allowed a stablehand to help her dismount and lead her horse away. The guards stayed with her as they walked toward the hall where Edmure sat in waiting, having been alerted of their arrival.

"Guards," her brother addressed them, "You have the thanks of Riverrun and House Tully for your servitude and protection of my lady sister. Please accept a meal and chambers for the eve and fresh mounts for your return." The captain of the guard nodded and led his men away.

"Oh Edmure it is so good to see you again," Catelyn beamed.

Her brother smiled with a weariness. "As it is good to see you. Come, your old bedchamber will serve you for this night. On the morrow we must speak further."

Catelyn frowned, both concerned and confused. She said, "The last time I had come to Riverrun I recall we spent a good deal of the night speaking. What has changed, brother? And what of Father? I have not yet seen him,"

Edmure pinched the bridge of his nose, yawning into a sigh. "There is no sense waking father for him to see you when you will still be here on the morrow. Cat, we shall speak, though not tonight, lest you wish to find no rest at all."

Reluctant, Catelyn walked beside him all the way to her bedchamber, wondering after what could have her brother in the throws of weariness. When he left her, Catelyn worried as she undressed and crawled beneath the quilts of her bed. They were heavier than those given at the inn but not so heavy as those of Winterfell that could warm her on cold northern nights. With that realization she found herself suddenly flustered by tears of home sickness.  _Ned, oh Ned, I never should have agreed to leave Winterfell without you._ It was unknown to her when exactly she fell into sleep, but when it came it was swift and gentle, carrying her away to less worrisome dreams.

[]

Quron approached the door of Lady Daenerys' bedchamber with a silver plater of food covered by a great matching cover-bowl to prevent premature cooling. The guards saw the plater and stepped aside for the cook to enter. Inside, the Lady Daenerys laid upon her bed with her back to the door.

"I was being told you were awake and well enough to be feeding. The silver lady knows I mislike wasting food."

Dany rolled over, saw the cook and his platter and sat up to properly receive her visitor. "Quron, I'm so happy to see you! Do you have word of Robb? Perhaps a letter of the girls from King's Landing? Anything, please." The cook had been her only source of outside information since she had been made to stay in her bedchamber three weeks past. Her only friend it seemed, now that all others were forbidden from entering, guards enforcing her imprisonment-like conditions.

Quron gave a shake of the head and, sitting beside the bed, said, "I am having no word of the lady wolves, but I am having wishes for your wellbeing from the young pups and a gift from your young wolf lord." Pulling away the cover-bowl Quron revealed bowl of soup, and a large white and gold, oval shaped stone.

Dany looked at him in confusion but brought the stone from the platter into her hands regardless. It was smooth to the touch and cool though not cold. She  _felt_ a difference between it and other stones she had held, found in the yards and godswood. Those others had a frozenness to them that lacked in the stone she held now. Bringing it to the light, she peered at the underside of it curiously. "It has blue in the white. Do you see?"

The cook took a look and nodded, "The young wolf had missed that. He is telling me this is the egg he wishes for you to have first, because it is the most beautiful he is thinking."

"Egg?"

"I am not to be telling you explanations. Only to be bringing it to you for your eyes to be looking and mind to be thinking." Quron lifted the bowl of soup and motioned for Dany to take it. Reluctantly she set the stone - egg - in her lap, cradling it with her folded legs, and accepted the bowl. As always, the food was wonderful.

Dany asked, "Is there any news of  _anything_  beyond my room? Is it known when I will be released?"

Her friend met her eyes, a glittering blend of emotion reflected back at her, "There is talk of birds wanting exchange. Of this I am knowing nothing more. Patience, silver lady. You have a gentle heart, kindness the north men will remember for many histories. I am knowing this is true,"

Dany knew which it was the cook referred to. She had been the hand to guide Quron from poverty to the kitchens of Winterfell. She could still remember the day, plain as though it were only yesterday. How she had been only a girl of ten in Winter Town when an import from The Dreadfort and across the Narrow Sea came grinding over the stone roads. Quron had been clutching the underside of the wagon for the whole passage to Winterfell, and his arms were weak and weary from hunger and fatigue. Dany had been there to see the cook fall onto the road when the wheel struck a groove. Others had as well, but they paid little mind, continuing about their way.

She had gone forward, hurrying as much as was accepted of her, crouching low to take his hands. It was the only time she had been certain that Quron could be called a man. "Are you injured?" Dany asked, gently easing him into a seated position. The face that had looked at her on the road was not the same face that had taken up employment in the kitchens. "I am not, though a lady is kind to care."

"Please, Daenerys," she had said, rising with him to her feet, allowing him to rest on her shoulder only to find that his hair that had once been shaggy and brown had become short cut and grey. His features no longer resembled a man nor a woman in full, but rather had elements of each words could not adequately describe. "I do not understand," was what she had said, tones of fear and wonderment in her voice.

Quron had smiled warm as a weary traveller could smile. "It is a trick of light. I am not coming from Westeros birth."

"Where then have you escaped from?" To hear herself say the words brought the realization that he could have killed her and vanished, a catspaw for the king who wished her dead. It would be easily done, if he could change his face so strangely. Yet she had not stepped away from him, despite all those thoughts.

Quron had shrugged, "It is making little difference. A man is escaping always from one place."

"You don't need to be afraid," Dany had told him, leading him toward Winterfell. "Lord Eddard Stark might grant you leave to work for his House. You would be safe here, always."

"A lady is kind to strangers. Might be I am saying yes, if there be places in the kitchens I am being granted."

Dany had asked a guard to call for Lord Eddard, and had told him of how Quron wished to cook for them. She had been the one to give him the name, she believed, unable to properly pronounce the name he had offered her. Though he had been skeptical, Lord Stark had granted Quron opportunity to work in the kitchens, to cook for the household guard at first, and then slowly moving him up to a position where he cooked for all. He hadn't changed his face since, a promise he had made her as thanks.

"You are kind to say so, yet I fear if I stay here much longer I will go mad. There is nought to do in this bedchamber but sleep and read, and I grow tired of sleep and reading." Dany handed Quron the bowl.

Quron put it on the platter and covered it again, rising. "I am not to be giving advice to the silver lady, but might be I am telling her to conceal the egg and attend a late night caller. Though which night I am not to be giving you.  _Valar morghulis._ " Quron bowed deeply and took leave of her.

" _Valar dohaeris,_ " Dany spoke the Valyrian words and watched him go, saw the shadow of a guard in the corridor and sighed. Staring down at the egg she wondered how a stone could truly be an egg, holding it to the ebbing sunlight once more to admire it's strange, foreign beauty.

That night no one came to her, not even Lord Eddard nor maester Luwin, who had been her only company as of late. Dany fell into sleep with the stone egg close to her body, protected by her arm and covered by a thin quilt. She dreamt of bright fire hair, a strange city on the other side of the world, and a vast sea of grass with a faceless weirwood slowly being covered by a soft, dry snow.

[]

The day was growing short. Lord Eddard was in his solar when his eldest son requested an audience with him. He had been reviewing letters received from maester Aemon and texts maester Luwin had been permitted to take from the Citadel many years passed. When the guard came in with the message, Ned asked him to allow Robb entrance and resume his post.

"Father," Robb said, coming into the solar. Aside from the new pages and books nothing had changed since he and Jon had been made to spend two days within the confines of the room.

"Robb, what brings you here?" Ned asked, setting the papers and texts aside, closing their covers to hide their words. It was not that he did not trust his son, but this was a matter to tread lightly with, and if his suspicions were right it was better that Robb learn of the prophecies only after Ned and maester Luwin had come to a solution.

He watched his son walk forward and gestured for the boy to take a seat.  _He's a young man now, nearing his eighteenth name day._ "Father, I would like to be included in the wellbeing of Daenerys. I understand your hesitations, but if there is anything more I can do than pretend all is well and good, please. I would do my best not to shame you."

"You could never shame me, Robb. Not if your efforts were of the best intent. However there is nought for you to do. Maester Luwin and I are working endlessly on the matter. We are fairing well."

"Aye, but assistance, perhaps? I could read texts for you, send letters if you require. Even if you would grant me leave to take responsibility of the household fares to lessen your burden. I do not mean to whine as a child, Father, yet my mind craves a distraction."

Ned looked at his son, his first born and heir, for a long moment. His hair had more Tully than Stark, and his mother's eyes were with him, but his build was lean yet strong as Brandon's had been, and he managed himself with the dignity and respect of the north and Stark name. Choosing his words with care, he said, "A distraction from your heart's desires, am I fair to assume?"

Robb did not so much as blink in surprise.  _Perhaps he knew I would know._ "Yes, Father."

"It is true then, that you have feelings for Daenerys. I had wondered but a man who loves his children can grow blind at times."

"Not blind, Father, unworried. Had she never left for Everset I might never have recognized the true strength of my feelings for her, and in turn never would have sparked concern."

Ned nodded, allowing the truth of his son's insight. "Aye, but if not then perhaps when she had fallen, or perhaps later in your years, when you faced a proper marriage, or she did. I fear yours is a love that never leaves the heart."

"Why do you fear such a love?" Robb asked, feeling like a woman for having broached the subject of discussion, yet also disquieted though he did not reveal either emotion. He sensed he was about to learn more on a subject than he had intended, and quite possibly a subject he had no desire to delve into.

 _Where is Cat when I need her? She is better suited that I for talking of such matters._ "Such a love can destroy kingdoms, slaughter thousands, burn cities to ash and dust. It has happened before in our histories, and I do not wish to be alive to see it occur again."

His father had not said as much but Robb knew without having to hear the words. The fall of the Targaryen dynasty was that which his lord father referred, though this was a side of the tale he had been unaware of. He knew that King Robert had led the rebellion against the royal House; he knew that Aerys was a mad king who murdered his grandfather and Uncle Brandon; he knew that Rhaegar had slighted his Dornish queen the year before the war had begun. Yet he did not know how he had slighted princess Elia, and yet he suspected he did. "Did Prince Rhaegar love Aunt Lyanna, when she was betrothed to King Robert?"

Ned had never been one to show weakness before his children or wards, nor to his men, liege lords, or the smallfolk. It was something he reserved for maester Luwin and his lady wife Catelyn. Maester Luwin because the man could detect fear like a hound could track game, and Catelyn because she was his wife, a good woman with a strong heart and patience. Yet there, in his own solar before his own son and heir, Ned felt an overwhelming fatigue run through him as all that he knew flew across his mind to his tongue, desperately wanting to be released.

"Father? Are you well?" Robb asked, his composure fracturing for only a second until he saw his father raise a hand to assure him he was fine. If there was ever a man Robb had looked up to with admiration it was his father, and it frightened him like Old Nan's stories once had to see him suddenly look so weathered. "I apologize for any distress. I did not intend to speak ill of the king nor of my late aunt."

"You spoke only half-realized truths. There is no need to apologize for that." Ned said, regaining himself. He weighed the words he wanted to say, the undeniable affect they would have on his son.  _But he needs to know. He needs to understand why he can never be wed to Daenerys Targaryen._  "There are events that have taken place long before your birth that cost the Realm greatly. I will not tell you all, but I will tell you most on the condition that you never allow for ears other than thy own hear what I am to tell you."

Robb sat a little straighter, giving a confirming nod. "You have my word, Father, on my honour as a Stark and as your son."

 _Strong words for a young man._  So Ned told Robb of the tournament where Brandon had brought Lyanna to formally meet Robert Baratheon. He spoke of the blue roses the dragon prince had given her instead of the princess Elia of Dorne, marking her the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Ned spoke to how Lyanna had vanished shortly after the tournament was done, and how Robert declared Rhaegar a raper and a thief, a man without honour who was unfit to rule as King. From there it was all Robb already knew, but Ned told it anyway, a passage from the slight that started the war to the battle of the trident when Rhaegar was slain by Robert's sword.

It was there that Robb detected the shift in his father's speech. It was no longer simple facts that had been known of concealed from him; it had grown personal, and it was a side of the war Robb never expected to hear.

"My sister was not kidnapped, despite what Robert and the rest of the Realm believe. Nor was she raped by Rhaegar. She went with him willingly, in the dark of night to flee Robert whom she believed would never love her. She had much the same nature as Arya has, an iron beneath a growing beauty." Ned paused, but knew he would have to continue. There would be too many questions should he stop, too much regret on his part. "Lyanna tore the kingdom apart as much as Rhaegar. She loved him, as you love Daenerys. Men do crazed things for those they love, you must understand this, Robb. Robert rebelled because he loved Lyanna, and Rhaegar enticed her away because he loved her as well. And Lyanna... I found her in the hours before her death."

"Father you don't have to..." Robb could see the struggle in his father's face, the way the memory threatened to destroy the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, most honourable man Robb would ever know.

"I do, I must," Ned said, taking a moment to compose himself. When he continued, his voice was unbroken, the same voice that had taught Robb how to keep books and records, to hold a sword, and carry himself with dignity and honour. "The things men do for love ... You must remember that not all love is weighed equal. There is love between a man and his wife, between a mother and her children, between a lord and lady who know much of each other, and between brothers and sisters who know more and yet less. I did what was required of me by the love I held for my sister, despite her failures and oftentimes selfish nature. She acted on her love for Rhaegar as I acted on my love for her."  _Ramble until you finally say it. Ramble until your son sees that his illusion of you has always been marred by the secrets you've kept buried in the crypts._  "Lyanna perished in her birthing bed, shortly after her babe was born. She begged me keep the babe safe, my only sister, begged I do that last favour for her. Her son, and Rhaegar's though she did not need to say as much. The war was not yet won, but a man's last wish is solemn and must be honoured. So I promised her I would, and I sent the babe with a wet nurse Wylla whom I named my whore to be safe. When the war was done, I returned for him, and I brought him to Winterfell as my bastard, your half-brother. Jon Snow."

Robb leaned back in his chair slowly, not looking at his father, not hearing anything over the ringing in his ears. He crossed his arm slowly across his chest, the knuckles of his sword hand resting on his lips. For a long while he said nothing, he didn't move and he didn't look at his father. All the while Ned waited, patient as he was anxious, though he kept his face neutral, silently wishing Catelyn was in Winterfell so that he could seek her comfort afterward.

Robb rose then, meeting his father's gaze once more.  _I_ _f_ _he simply walks out it would be a greater mercy than you deserve._ Yet his son only stood there, silent still, until a great calm washed over his stoney features and he said at last, "Mother doesn't know. You never told her." _  
_

"I never told her."

"Why?"

 _Because I loved her, even then, when she was as foreign to me as the gods she kept and the lands she came from._  "King Aerys killed Brandon, my brother to whom she was betrothed. He died because of Lyanna's alleged kidnapping. I ... I could not bring myself to give her the truth."

"You were keeping Jon safe." It was a statement more than a question, but Ned nodded to confirm it. "You lied to her so that she would not be reminded of the reason she lost Brandon, and so she would not hate you for doing  _that_  to her. Yet fostering a bastard under your own roof, in the presence of your trueborn children... Forgive me, Father, but I do not understand how that was any better an option."

"They were both terrible options," Ned granted, "A bastard of my own was at least is forgivable, with time. To give her the bastard of Rhaegar and Lyanna and expect her to raise him with that knowledge? Why would any lady raise another woman's bastard?"

Robb shook his head, keeping his tone placid though the insult still came out sharper than he intended, or so he told himself as much. "She raised him as though she had such knowledge, or are you truly blind as you had mentioned? She loved Daenerys more than she ever loved Jon, yet both are wards here, neither children by her womb. Can you speak to that?"

Lord Stark shook his head. "Your mother did as she was taught.  _Family, Duty, Honour._  I asked a great deal of her, shaming her with a bastard to raise amongst our own children, but you must understand that she shamed me also when she took in the Targaryen babe. Yet it was therein lied the difference. Daenerys was a Targaryen, and only a babe. Highborn and royal blood, something your mother was learned to respect. I have forgiven her and she has forgiven me, but a Tully has more southron manners than a Stark."

Ned watched his son wrap his mind around it, weighing his next comment as Ned often weighed his own.  _He is more a man grown than his years would suggest._ "She has more expressive tendencies as women are wont to have while you uphold a lord's mannerisms to show the smallfolk they are safe and well-guarded while you rule."

"Well spoken. Yes,"

Robb gave a nod, his tongue running over the backs of his teeth. He never broke his gaze from his father's when he said, "You never told Jon."

"No, but had I told him, I would have asked the same of him as I had asked of you. To not speak of word of it to anyone else."

"Right, but of the people who deserve to have this information, I am the third. My lady mother is second because she is your wife and she has the right to the truth weather you believe it will cause her grief or not. It is not your decision to make for her. She is a woman grown and wed, and a stronger mother than one would believe if they knew her sister Lysa well and Catelyn only by name. She may be of Riverrun, but she bore five northern children and has stood loyal by your side for near twenty years."

Where this courage was coming from, Robb knew not. He had never spoken to his father in such a manner, never would have dared. The great and honourable Lord Eddard Stark commanded respect as he gave it. Robb still respected his father, but he was his father's son through and through, and if he had been taught anything it was that people deserved dignity and respect be them family, servants, allies, enemies, or criminals.

Robb continued. "I would command you ride for the Wall to tell Jon face to face the truth of his heritage if I were your lord and not your son. I needn't tell you a letter would be foolish, but I must ask that when next you see him to swear by your honour that you will tell him all you have told me."

Ned listened to his son, inappropriately proud of the way he handled himself. Any other lord would have gone into anger over the disrespect but Ned couldn't bring himself to do so. Robb had the right of things, and Ned respected the courage and calm of his son as he spoke his mind. When Robb finished, Ned rose and said, "By my honour I swear to you, I shall tell him."

His son gave a curt nod. "Your honour is not marred, Father, not by my opinion. I may not know personally the struggles of war, but I know enough to recognize that a man is not a god and is like to make mistakes. A truly honourable man recognizes when he must take measures to correct for them. You taught me as much."

"Aye, so I did." Robb turned to leave when Ned stopped him, calling him back. "You will have my leave to tend to the responsibilities of the household if I feel you understand why I told you what I did."

Robb paused before saying confidently, "As a lesson in choosing wisely who you love." Ned gave a nod and Robb bowed his thanks, resuming his leave.  _To caution me against loving Daenerys Targaryen, lest I wish to bring the wraith of Robert Baratheon down on the North._ He took not five steps when he turned again to his father and said, "I trust you understand that had you told Jon before you had told me, I would have known how your story ended."

"Oh?" Ned waited for his son to continue.

"He may not be my trueborn brother, nor even my half-brother, but Jon Snow is as much a brother to me as Brandon was and Benjen is to you. He would have told me."

[]

The night air was cold and still; fresh snow powered the earth beneath the canopy of trees, marred only by the footfalls of a lone figure. Dressed in snow bear furs, a longbow hung on their back, fletched arrows off one hip, a steel blade off the other. They kept a spear in hand as they took measured steps, preserving the hushed quiet of the night. Overhead the moon shone brightly, and stars scattered across the sky like lost snow that would never make it to the earth. The old gods whispered through the leaves that clung to black trees, over the snow and along the faint breeze, a guiding hand.

 _Mance would have a kingly talk with the King of the Crows. Mance would have his message known and his terms agreed upon._ The message they had been sent with ran over and again through their mind, the details of the message that could not be lost and must be answered.  _He sent me because I am fierce and will demand terms to return with, and because I'm a woman, he said. They will not kill a woman._

Then suddenly she stopped. The old gods whispered but a different voice, a man's voice, was speaking through the gloom. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins..."

A crows words? She readied her spear, seeking the source of the voice. If it was false, a wildlings mockery, she would leave them unharmed.  _If it is a crow, I will demand to see their king._ She walked closer, listening as the voice grew louder. The snow bear's fur on her boots muffled the sound of her walking. Yet if she was silent, the direwolf was more silent still.

She spun around to find the red eyed beast not five feet from her, his fur so white he blended with the ground and made her own furs seem grey. He had made not a sound, not even a breath, and what compelled her to turn and find him she did not know.  _The old gods, perhaps. They guard me and Mance's message. They want his message to be known to the crows._ This was a creature of the old gods though, the white beast that made no motion to come any closer than he had already done. Her hand tightened on the shaft of the spear, posed to defend her if the beast chose to attack. The old gods confused her seldom, but as she stared at the direwolf they confused her greatly.

A frozen air travelled across the skin of her face but she did not shiver. Not taking her eyes from the beast, she drew her spear back slowly as she extended a free hand, palm facing the sky.  _Have courage. If it should try to kill me, I will be swifter._ The direwolf stepped cautiously toward her, his neck extending so that his nose could sniff the flesh of her exposed fingers. Quickly, before she could react, the beast dragged his tongue across them, startling her though she forced herself to remain still as stone. The wind pressed against her face again but she paid it no mind this time. Instead she crouched low and lifted her fingers slowly, gently to scratch the fur behind the ear of the direwolf. "You're a pretty boy," she whispered, smiling at him. "Quiet as snow."

"Ghost," the voice called; the direwolf perked his ears toward the sound. "Ghost, come here,"

The direwolf looked to her, licking her hand once again before padding away. She stood not a moment before following after the creature.  _If a crow can summon a direwolf then he must be the king of the crows._  She made little noise if she ever made any, hurrying as fast as she could to tail the beast. Yet even her efforts could not help her catch up before the trees stopped abruptly, giving way to a field of snow. The Wall towered seven hundred feet high, so high she had to crane her neck to see the tiny spots of fire that sat atop it. She had run clean from the trees, and the realization brought a fear to her throat she never knew possible. Almost as though she were choking on the promise of death.  _Do not fear the Wall, Mance said, it is only ice,_  but it was not the Wall she feared.

Before her a group of three crows were walking toward the Wall, the direwolf falling into step beside the one in the middle, so much a crow that even his hair was black as their feathers. Though she knew she should follow after them, grab their attention, she couldn't make herself move. The night was black and favoured them; if she surprised them they would kill her even if she was a woman and not a man. Without taking her eyes from them she hurried back to the last tree and watched them go away.

The direwolf paused and glanced back to where she stood, those red eyes gleaming. It was enough for the middle crow to stop and ask the beast, "What is it Ghost?" As the crow looked up she vanished behind the tree, praying she had not been found. Still, she could feel the crow's gaze moving over the trees were she hid until at last she heard him say, "Come on, it's time we go eat."

When she was certain the crow was no longer looking, she peered around the tree again. The Wall caught the light of the moon, making it glow darkly against the night. Between her and it there stood only a vast emptiness the was unnaturally done.  _Do not be afraid of silly birds,_  she told herself sternly. The crows slipped beneath it, a grinding sound reaching her ears even from her distance. Then they were gone, and she was made to wait for morning.


	10. Wildlings, Weirwoods, Hammers and Skulls

**Wildlings, Weirwoods; Hammers and Skulls**

Jon was in the stables when Benjen and his rangers came in, talking of a wildling and the curiousness of the matter. He'd been named Lord Commander Mormont's steward, but he'd never wanted so badly to ride beyond to Wall with his uncle, even if only once.

"Can I come?" Jon asked as saddles were put over mounts and weapons chosen.

Benjen gave Jon a look. "You're not a ranger Jon. If we take you and Mormont calls for you-"

"Then I'll suffer the punishment as I deserve. Please, uncle, this once and never again."

Benjen sighed deeply; he could feel the watchful eyes of his rangers waiting to see what would be his answer. After a moment he resumed fixing the saddle to his own mount and said without looking at Jon directly, "Are you going to make us wait for you to fix a mount?" Jon's delight could not be concealed as he thanked his uncle and grabbed a saddle for his horse. "Don't be thanking me. Mormont will have your hide for this - and mine, it's possible."

The passage through the Wall opened and Jon followed behind the last of Benjen's men, leading his horse through the tunnel on foot. The weight of the Wall pressed close and dangerous, unsettling the hair on his arms even beneath his clothes and cloak. Though he had walked the tunnel before to say his vows before the weirwood beyond the Wall, this time it felt different. More sinister in a way, and yet all the more absent, as if he were merely walking through a covered bridge in Winterfell.  _The Wall protects itself._

At the end of it, a gust of wind flew past them. Jon mounted his horse and followed the other men, glancing back to see that Ghost had made it through as well. The direwolf had to keep back from the mounts to keep from frightening them; when the beast emerged from the tunnel he broke into a silent run, keeping wide around the horses still, going for the forest.

She saw the crows coming toward her from beneath the fringe of her hood. The arrow of the archer crow was still on her so she dared not move, not even a bit. As the crows upon their horses came closer, the arrow fell back, away from her. She straightened herself and looked at the riders indifferently; beneath she was quaking with fear.  _On my mountain the crows leave me good alone. In my mountain the dead never find me. Mance should stay by my mountain instead._

"Wildling!" A crow with black long hair called to her. The horses were nearly upon her, and the crows had weapons enough to slaughter a tribe.  _If you lied to me Mance ... I'd have given you my mountain. I'd have kept your family safe without need for killing me._ "Are you alone?"

"What's it to you how I am?" she demanded.

Jon had mistaken the wildling for a man, bundled thick in the shapeless white furs. Even the hood covered much of their face, leaving him to guess, but the voice was a tell. She spoke thicker and with less grace than Sansa, it was true, but it was a woman's voice none the less. Jon did not interrupt, nor did he take his eyes from the wildling woman. Benjen had done him a good favour, letting him come beyond the Wall with him.  _I will not make him regret this._

"Are you alone? You will answer." Benjen repeated.

She spat, "I will not! Free folk do as they like, you rotted crow. Take me to your king!"

"You want to see King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm?" Every word Benjen spoke was soaked in disbelief, humour, and underlined with mild sarcasm.

Her fingers tighten around the shaft of her spear, but she didn't jab it in their direction when she said, "I want 'o see the king of you crows. If little fancy name there is him, that's who I'm wanting."

It was going well enough, the situation had been under control. The very last thing Jon ever expected to happen was to ruin everything without lifting so much as a finger. Benjen was saying something about Mormont and Robert when the wildling woman spun away from him to point her spear at Ghost. Jon wanted to command her not to kill him, but all the words died on his tongue when the direwolf jumped, she dropped her spear, and Ghost's paws landed on her shoulders, licking her face. Like some house hound.

"Ghost! Here!" Jon called, dismounting as the Brother's horses worried in the presence of the direwolf. He couldn't concern himself with Benjen's look of disapproval. He just couldn't.

The wildling was scratching Ghost's ears, grinning as she spoke to him. "Oh you pretty boy. Naughty, interrupting the old crows."

Jon drew his sword and pointed it at her threateningly. Her smile vanished; Ghost dropped down to all four paws as Jon said fiercely, "Enough folly. Step back and tell the men if you've come alone." His blade did not waver, and he did not lower it from her throat where he held it.

The woman eyed him with a cold anger. "Aye, I'm alone."

"How many people know you're here?"

"Four,"

"Why are you here?"

"I've been given a message for the king o' crows."

"By who?"

"King Mance," she said, her voice like frozen steel in the ears of the rangers. To Jon, the name meant nothing. "The beast of the old gods is your own?"

"Did I say you could ask questions?" Jon growled, but relented, "Aye, the direwolf is mine."

The woman nodded stiffly so as to not prick her neck on the point of the sword. "Then my message is for you, crow king."

Jon shook his head. He could feel the eyes of his Sworn Brothers at his back, but he could not allow himself to glance back for support. "The Night's Watch has no king.  _I shall wear no crowns_ , it's in our vows."

She laughed mirthlessly, "Why then has the creature of the old gods chosen you? Why do your brother crows let you command these talks when they are all senior to you? Mance wants his message heard by the king and I'm to bring him answers. And I say you're the king of the crows."

"Aye, and some Brothers would say Three-Finger Hobb is the king of us, for making the best food north o' Winterfell." Jon replied.

The wildling woman gave him a blank look before she huffed her annoyance. "You are the king because o' the direwolf. You will hear  _my_  king's message."

Jon lowered the sword but did not return it to its sheath. "Aye, but not here. I would have my council present. You can give us your message in the tower."

"No," she said too quickly.  _Fearful._  "Mance said nothing of a council. Only a king."

Jon took a glance at his Sworn Brothers; Benjen lifted a subtle brow, telling him to continue to play the role. Turning back to the woman, he demanded, "What is your name?"

"Ygritte, King o' Crows. I gave you mine…"

"Jon Snow," He told her, continuing on subject with a nod, "Ygritte, is Mance not always surrounded by the same few folk? A woman he is fond of, his queen perhaps? Someone good with beasts? A skilled warrior or two? A healer of sorts? People who are always there even when he's dealing with important matters?" She nodded slowly, trying to find where his words were leading. "Exactly. The Night's Watch calls that a council. My council is back in a tower in Castle Black. You have to come with me to give the message."

"What crows are these, if they aren't your  _council_?" Her fingers absently brushed through Ghost's fur as he paced back and forth between Jon and Ygritte. "Mance's  _council_  always rides with him."

Jon shrugged, "They are an honour guard, to protect me from ambush. My council men are tending to other matters at the moment."

Her face betrayed nothing but she bent down to retrieve her spear, never taking her eyes from him, and looking at him plain in the eye decided, "I will go to this black castle and speak to you. I will have an answer for Mance."

"You will have an answer for Mance," Jon agreed.

"And I will not be kept prisoner!" Ygritte added, her free hand resting on the hilt of her blade. "Mance said crows don't harm woman folk."

To that Jon said nothing. He could promise her an answer, but he could not promise that she would be simply allowed to go away with Mormont's words free of questioning. He could not promise that just because she was a woman she would be untouchable. She was still a wildling.

Instead he motioned for her to walk past him, to follow the column. He took his own mount and walked the animal toward the gate, sword in the other hand and ready in case she tried something. Her brilliant orange hair fell in a tangle over her hood and back, held out of her face by pins he could see as he followed behind her, taking up the rear of the column. As she walked her hips swayed slightly back and forth, the way Dany and Sansa's had sometimes. Jon tried to summon up the image of his 'sisters' but failed. It had been near three months, or four, since he last saw them, but Sansa's Tully curls became Ygritte's fire-kissed waves, and Dany's cream skin became snow-frozen white, like the wildlings own.  _Beautiful, for a wildling._ The thought came unbidden, but Jon crushed it before it grew any larger. She was a wildling, and he was a man of the Night's Watch, freshly sworn into his vows.  _She thinks you're the King of the Wall,_ his mind mocked.

Ygritte's movements became stiff and awkward, and she glanced back to Jon as the gate opened and the tunnel beneath the Wall grew before her. He gestured for her to continue walking; for a second, she looked like she was about to balk, to take off running back for the forest.

 _Do not fear the Wall. It is only ice,_  she told herself, but the old gods whispered and she knew at once that the words were false. Staring back down the mouth of the tunnel, she saw it had no end, only darkness. "Will it collapse?" she asked the king of crows - Jon Snow - plainly, the hints of fear in her voice making her angry. Mance chose her, no one else; she had to be the strongest then, the best of the men and the women, to have made her king choose her for the mission.

"It has not collapsed in over eight thousand years. It will not collapse today."

"You speak with such certainty," Ygritte said, not looking at the crow. Instead she took a breath and marched forward, spear in hand and fingers lingering on the hilt of her blade, in case this was a trap to kill her. She would not go down without blood shed.

[]

Robb was speaking with Jory and Rodrik in the yards when the raven flew overhead to the tower of maester Luwin. The sturdy old man took the message from the bird's leg and read it as he had read every message that had come to Winterfell since he had been instated as the maester of the Starks. There were not many instances when he would receive the tiny inked words and grow saddened or fearful, but this letter stirred the former and Luwin moved with haste to deliver it to Lord Eddard.

"A letter, from Riverrun, my lord. Lady Catelyn..." He let his voice die as he handed over the letter.

Ned read it with careful eyes and a somber expression as the words came to close. "Lord Hoster is dying. Catelyn wishes I attend her at Riverrun so she does not have to bear the grief alone."

"Aye, and what would you have done, my lord?"

The maester watched as Ned rubbed his jaw and thought. It was a common gesture, so ingrained in who the Lord of Winterfell was that it would be a dangerous time when the motions were lost from his manners. "I would go to Riverrun, as my lady asks. The Tullys may not be northernmen but they are loyal to House Stark all the same and family by marriage. Lord Hoster has done me many an honour in my life."

Luwin nodded, "And in your absence?"

"Robb will be the Stark of Winterfell in my absence. You will advise him for me, Luwin, when he is at a loss."

Maester Luwin smiled, chuckling, "As he is your son I fear I will seldom be advising the lad, my lord. He has northern blood, wit enough to challenge other boys of age with him and older, and mannerisms to command a host should he choose."

"Aye, but still a boy in part. You mustn't let him fool you." Ned cautioned.

"Naturally, I will do all I can. What of Daenerys?"

Lord Eddard thought on the question a moment. "Robb will undoubtedly free her of her room. Allow this, but watch her carefully. At the first signs of fever or madness confine her again. And continue the search for the cause of the dreams. Near eighteen years and she has only ever run a little warmer than the normal man. Now she has a third sight that cannot be controlled. These prophecies are caused by something, and I'll have it known." **  
**

Luwin nodded, "Maester Aemon has been dealing with the texts and tombs of Castle Black. Apparently he has acquired a new steward, a Tarly lad. Good for searching through books,"

"Good," Ned rose.

Maester Luwin bowed, "Shall I alert the stables?"

"Aye, and Rodrik. Jory will remain master-at-arms in his father's wake."

[]

Quron had brought to her two other stone eggs, gifts from Robb though she had not seen nor heard of him in near twice a fortnight. She knew not where the eggs had come from, nor why she was being given them, though she had come to her own conclusion that they must be dragon eggs. What other significance could they have? Why else would Robb be sending them to her, hidden under silver serving bowls? Why else would Quron call stones eggs?

The light of the full moon came in through her open window; Dany rolled to face it, sighing heavily.  _If I could fly I would go to the Wall, to tell Jon of how bored a bedchamber can truly be. He would make me laugh, he would distract me with the lands Beyond the Wall..._

She sat up in her bed and pulled the stone eggs from behind her pillows, one at a time. They were heavy to cradle, pearl and onyx and jade to behold. Laying them in a row before her she admired the way the moonlight caught them and brought out the hidden colours. The icy blue tracing along the gold of the pearl like frost; the deep forbidding scarlet that sent fingers of power down the onyx scales; the brandished bronze of a mystery knight's jade weapon.  _If I could fly I would bring them to King's_ _Landing. Sansa would adore them as deeply as I do, and Arya would believe me when I tell her I think them to be ancient dragon eggs..._

Tears came unbidden to her eyes but she let them fall over her cheeks. Two twin streams, silent as the northern night. She missed her darling Stark girls, her sisters by all but blood and name. They would be thriving in the south, both of them. Beautiful Sansa, where the sunlight could bring a new shine to her hair and eyes and give her the ability to blossom into a regal queen. Wild Arya, where the heat could fuel her courage and give her the power she would undoubtedly achieve. And her Snow... she prayed to the old gods of the Starks and the north that he keep safe and warm as he protected the Realm.  _If I could fly I would take my Starks someplace safe, away from wars and crows and death. If I could fly..._

"Lady Daenerys," Dany looked toward the window at the sound of Robb's voice, startled by his presence and ashamed by her tears. Hastily she rose and wiped them away with the sleeve of her gown but he had seen them already. "Why are you crying?"

She shook her head as she took his hand to pull him into her bedchamber from the ledge. "You could have fallen. It was reckless for you to have done such a thing as that."

"Bran climbs all the time. You have never worried for him."

"A lie. I worry after him as though I were Lady Catelyn, yet he has proved he never falls. In wind and rain, snow and ice, the boy climbs and never falls. You are larger and not near so nimble of foot. I saw you try once. Bran wanted you to, and you were awful." Dany was still fussing with the last of her tears.

Robb chuckled, taking her in an embrace and smiling into her soft silver-blonde locks. "Aye, I might have been awful then, but Bran has taught me enough to get me to you. He says you have to come out and see him now that father is gone to Riverrun. Your favourite Starks miss you deeply."

Dany smiled, burying her face in his chest to staunch any new tears, the furs of his cloak tickling her face. "What of my supposed second favourite Stark?"

"I have missed you greater than the long night misses the sun." She felt his lips press against the crown of her head. Dany turned her head so she could kiss him proper, gentle. Through the shadows he smiled at her, his eyes nearly black and his hair dark as coal dust. "Come, I have much to speak of with you."

"And I you, but where shall we go? I'm to be in my room at all hours."

"My lord father has gone south to Riverrun to tend to my lady mother in her grieving. Lord Hoster Tully is failing. I am to be Lord of Winterfell in his absence, and maester Luwin will not object to my releasing you of your bedchamber."

"Yet you chose to climb through the window instead of walk through the door." Dany pointed out, dressing herself in a proper dress and choosing a cloak. She never truly wore the Stark colours, though she had pieces aplenty in her selection that she could if she desired. Rather, she had adopted colours of her own, blue and grey, and without a sigil. Dany pulled a soft blue cotton cloak trimmed with grey fur over her shoulders.

Robb nodded, "Aye, for effect I suppose."

She shook her head and smiled. "How do I look?" Dany asked, giving a spin before drawing her quilt over the stone eggs to hide them from sight.

"You look beautiful, always." Robb bowed his head and kissed her cheek like a whisper kisses the ear. A light blush crept over her cream skin and she followed him to the door.

The guards posted outside her bedchamber gave a start when the saw Robb Stark step out. He gave them leave of their responsibilities for the night, that control that marked him a leader, a son of Eddard Stark, firm in his voice. They bowed and marched off; Robb walked in stride with Dany down toward the yards, the pair of them whispering shadows.

Outside the air was as cool as it had been coming through her open bedchamber window. The night was still young, the blackness of it dispelled by the brilliance of the whole moon, casting the world in bright shadows and deep blues instead of cloaking darkness. When they stepped from the castle Robb took her hand in his own, his eyes asking for permission to continuing walking in the manner, an answer Dany provided with a blushing smile and a reassuring squeeze of her fingers. "Where are we going?" she asked, genuinely curious as Robb began to lead her toward the godswood.

He said nothing, only smiling the way Bran oft did when he was excited to show her something he found interesting. Through the web of trees they moved until the weirwood appeared. Against the darkness it seemed to glow as radiant as the moon itself, it's red leaves nearly black while it's face stayed red as blood. Dany lifted her free hand to the pendant at her neck absently, the words of her nightmare rolling over in her mind:  _drown, burn, die._  When Robb reached the weirwood a look of belonging came over him. With her mind's eye she could trace his figure into the growth lines of the white bark of the tree belonging to his gods.  _Your gods too._

"You received the dragon eggs, I saw." Robb began, walking slowly, her arm brushing against his as they moved. "Do you like them?"

"I do, deeply. Where did you find them, I must ask. Quron told me not to let anyone else find them, so I haven't been able to do more than speculate."

Robb squeezed her hand lightly, "Jon and I took them in the confusion after your brother's death."

"After Viserys' death." Dany corrected him. "He was only of my blood, but he was never my brother."

Robb consented with a nod, "As you would. It was Jon who said you should have them, as we have our direwolves. Three dragons, the sigil of your House. You were meant to have them, even if they are only stones." He remembered how Jon and him had taken the stones without knowing what they were, how they had hidden them in Robb's mattress to hide them on their way to Lord Eddard's solar. He remembered them asking Quron, who when they brought one down for the cook's inspection, deemed them dragon eggs, yet fossilized.

"Beautiful stones, you would agree?" Dany looked away from his face, over the bright shadows of the godswood. They were opposite the weirwood, on the far side of the pool from it. She remembered the crows and the screeching, the corpse that told her everyone she loved would die. She turned her face from the heart tree and stopped, Robb stopped a pace ahead. In the pool she could see how their hands bound them together, how Robb looked so much the image of a lord in the moonlight, and her, so like a phantom all dressed in her blues and greys, her hair near-white by the moon's glow. To the reflections in the pool she spoke, "Do you think they could ever be hatched, the eggs? Do you believe that there is some power that still exists that could make them into dragons from the stone?"

Dany watched him step closer, half hidden behind her in the watery mirror. "There haven't been dragons in the world for near two centuries. I think they will only ever be beautiful stones."

"What about Asshai by the Shadow? There are histories of uncertain and openly practiced powers there. Perhaps they might know something..."

"Where has this sudden desire grown from?" Robb asked her, touching her shoulders to ask her to turn and see him in truth and not mere reflection when she answered.

Dany's shoulder's deflated when she did so. "From the nightmare. On the day Jon left, before I woke in my bedchamber forbidden to leave, I grew faint and fell into a terrible dream. Viserys was a corpse long rotting, and crows and ravens ate his flesh as the ground trapped me and he told me over and over that my wolves would burn and drown in the treachery they had sown. That war was coming for my wolves, a war  _she_  had birthed it."

Robb wrapped his arms around her then, holding her in a hug the way he had when she came to him afraid of wolves when they were small, the way he had learned to comfort her so many long years in the past. "There is no war here, nor is there war coming for us. The realm is at peace."

"A fragile peace. I feared the king might learn of my presence here and so I wrote him a letter I hoped would starve his thoughts of my wanting to regain the kingdom. If it did not work as I had hoped, then there may be a war, and dragons ... Dragons could bring a stronger peace, could they not? If I could hatch even one, and give it to King Robert, he would see I mean no harm, and he would leave the north alone and none of you would die."

She spoke with her face pressed to his doublet, fingers pressing into his back. He was so familiar; she could trace the curve of his shoulder blades with her finger in her mind, could see the angle of his jaw, the wispy hairs at his hair line that simply wouldn't fit with the rest of them. He had always been there beside her, even when he was off learning the ways of lordship. While she had run about and learned to be a lady and a sister to the younger Starks, had been a sister to Jon, Robb had always been as much a friend as he had been her brother. While she was the misfit by her hair and her blood, he was the misfit by his birthright, always upholding his father's image first and foremost.

Dany remembered how Robb would stay in his father's solar while Jon and her would corral Sansa and Arya, and later Bran and Rickon, playing games of swords, save the ladies fair, and build forts in the snow so that they could toss snowballs at each other. Robb, who had grown up so fast while she had taken her time to catch up to him. Robb, who she knew so well and not at all.

"You will go mad thinking that you can do this." He told her, touching a hand to her face so he could lift her eyes to his. There in his eyes she found nothing to betray his inner feelings; his voice was that of a lord's in that moment, not a lover. Then he reached his other hand to trace his fingers through her hair with the tenderness of a mother holding her newly born babe. "But if you feel you must go then I will give you the men you need to protect you."

She lifted a hand to the one on her cheek, drawing it away with an easy grace, knitting her fingers between his. "A better man I will never meet, and in my travels I will think only of coming home, and of you."

"Daenerys Targaryen," Robb began, turning his back to the weirwood and taking her other hand gently. "Lady Daenerys."

"Robb Stark, my Lord Robb Stark," Dany mimicked him, her eyes smiling with a laughter and an uncertainty.

He grinned then, lowering their hands so that he had to come closer to her still, a proximity she didn't reject but welcomed. "You are the most beautiful woman, in mind, in manners, in appearance, that my eyes will ever behold. My lord father has cautioned me against loving you, you should be made aware. Yet I pray you will be aware also that I cannot heed his cautions. Before the old gods I will have it known, that from this day, until my last day, that my heart will forever belong only to you, Lady Daenerys Targaryen."

It was the only time she had heard the absence of the teasing in the way he called her lady. It was the only time he had ever brought her to tears though this time she let the sparse few of them fall without any care. "From this night," she whispered, tilting her head so she could look him in the eyes. Dany became entirely aware of how close his lips were to her own, of how warm she was beneath her clothes. "Until my last night."

She brought his hands back to her hips; his lips pressed against her own with a tenderness that couldn't be matched; her hands rose so her fingers could trail through his dark curls. The kiss deepened and one of Robb's hands began to rise to the place between her shoulder bones, the other pressed against the small of her back, holding her fast to him. Dany didn't protest, didn't break the kiss as she unfastened his cloak and let it fall to the exposed white roots of the weirwood. Carefully Robb turned her so that her back brushed against the heart tree; he unfastened her cloak, breaking the kiss only enough to see her consent; Dany kissed his nose playfully in assurance. Her fingers worked at his doublet before she slid it from his shoulders and heard it fall to the ground as well.

"Are you certain you would do this?" Robb asked between kisses, one hand with fingers curling sweetly through her long silver hair.

In response she asked, "Are you certain we should do this before the old gods and in the cold?"

"I would never be cold with you at my side." Robb whispered, nose resting against hers as he spoke. "The gods would know of our love no matter where we chose to go."

Dany kissed him sweet and light, her hands sliding down his chest to his waist. When she looked in his eyes she saw a world of love that exceeded all bounds and welcomed her at her own discretion.  _I could tell him no and he would accept my decision but it would destroy him and I would escape no better than him._ Why she would deny him, she could not think of a single reason besides perhaps his honour, or her own.  _Perhaps that is enough..._ "Come then, I would not have you freeze by morning light."

[][]

Oh she was  _so_  going to be in trouble.

Arya hadn't intended for anything to go wrong. It was just an innocent visit to the city beyond the castle and it's keep. Granted, she was unaccompanied by any guards and wearing what Sansa would have generously deemed 'rags'.  _Who cares though if my stitches aren't amazing, really?_  Arya had climbed aboard a wagon and rolled off when there was enough distance between her and the guards of the castle. The wagon owner hadn't seen her climb on, but he noticed when she got off because she rocked it into a pothole by accident. He had shouted at her but she was faster then he was, even in her rag-dress. Arya darted down the alley nearest and disappeared, losing him and whoever he had alerted within the vast network.

When she stopped running at last, she emerged from the allies and stepped into a brilliant display of shops and stands and merchants. There were silks and fruits and breads and desserts; men haggling prices, women browsing foods, children running around next to naked in and among the stands. The markets of Winter Town weren't even comparable. They were all drab colourings, furs over silks, breads over fruits, needs over wants. Arya nearly nicked an apple from a cart before she was caught by the merchant who tried to grab her before he realized her dress and grumbled at her instead, "Go fetch some o' your coins, Lady. Goods ain't free, not even for whatever House you hail from."

Arya glared at him and stalked off.  _In Winter Town he'd have given me one and smiled. Father would have paid him for his generous heart and all would be satisfied._  Up the street, she followed the sounds of steel against steel until she found a couple were she could peer inside and see the smiths at work.

Inside the one labelled very simply "Mott's Smithy" Arya found only one man working. He was maybe a year or two older than Sansa, or maybe just Sansa's age. She couldn't tell. His hair was black as coal and his arms were huge with muscles that flexed and relaxed every time he brought the hammer down on the steel of a blade he was forging. Something about him fascinated her and she lingered to watch him work. When he felt eyes on him, he looked up and directly into her eyes. His were blue as she'd never seen, a different blue than Sansa's or Robb's or Rickon's. Sort of like a storm, but not entirely.

"Can I help you, girl?" he asked, lowering his hammer and stepping around his anvil toward her. He was tall as Robb was, but not near so lean.

"My name's Arya Stark, not girl." She said flatly, defensive. "I only wanted to watch."

The man wiped his hands down on his apron. "Stark? Isn't that one of 'em highborn names?"

"Might be,"

"What's a highborn lady wanting to watch a blacksmith for? And where are your guards?" He glanced up and down the street before he looked back to her. "I've not done any wrong - you can tell whatever men here for me to bugger right off."

Arya lifted her eyebrows at him. "Why would I bring men to take you? I snuck out of the castle. If men came here, it'd be to find me, not you, whoever you are."

The smith crossed his arms disbelievingly. "No way a highborn lady sneaks out of a castle and talks like you do. Where are your manners? I thought that's all ladies were for, aside from looking good and nice."

"Not all highborn girls have to be ladies you know," Arya snapped. "My sister loves the whole thing, but not me. My half-brother even gave me a sword 'cause he knows I'm not like to be much of a lady."

The smith scoffed openly, "You have a sword?"

"Aye, and I'll come back and kill you with it if you tell anyone else."

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Fair, my silence is yours, you strange highborn lady."

She rolled her eyes, "Arya."

"Gendry," he said, extending a hand before realizing that he shouldn't and pulled it back to his chest. Arya's face betrayed a slight hurt at the repressed gesture.  _I'm not some stupid lady you have to be careful around._  "If you insist on watching, might well come on in before someone runs you down with a cart. Just stay out of the way and away from the coals. I'm not about to have my head on a spike because of you."

"If I was dumb enough to fall into the coals I wouldn't let them blame you."

Gendry snorted, "Yeah, sure." He brought his hammer down on the steel, resuming the crafting and ending the conversation.

Arya watched as the steel slowly became a blade with it's edges and body and naked hilt. When Gendry set his hammer aside she asked him if the smiths dressed the hilts in leather or jewels or whatever. "Sure, but only once someone's bought the sword. Jewels are more for goldsmiths 'cause they're more delicate workings. I can do leathers well enough."

She nodded and fell silent again as Gendry placed the fresh crafted blade on a separate table and plucked a chunk of metal from the flames. "What is that going to be?" she wondered.

"A helm, you can see it in the way the metal glows."

"Can you really?"

"Why would I lie to you? Come here, look," Arya stepped closer and around to his side, peering at where he was pointing to the angry red metal. "The metal is curling too much to be a sword. When you smith a blade, the steel only sits for an hour before you start to work it. With a helm, it has to be worked by the flames before it can be worked by the hammer, and flames work slowly. I can make two swords for every helm if I work without distractions."

Arya glanced at him and took the hint, stepping away from his anvil and back toward her spot. She wanted to see how a helm was formed. They never let her near the smithies in Winter Town; she'd never bothered to visit them.

"What in seven hells is a girl doing in here!"

The sudden shout startled Arya so that when she snapped her attention toward the speaker she lost her balance, tripping over her skirts and twisting her body to break her fall. Next she knew she was drenched in freezing water, the smell of something burning wrinkling her nose.

"She's a Stark, Lady Arya."

"A STARK! By the gods I'll not have you ruin me for this!" Arya looked up to see the shouter storm toward them. Gendry helped her to her feet; the balding man with no facial hair, dressed in boiled leather, snapped his fingers for them both to get walking. "We're going before the king. You will fall on your knees and beg he doesn't take your head!"

Gendry glared at her the whole way back to the castle, even after she stopped looking at him, favouring the filth of the streets to the burning hatred in his eyes. At the gate, the bald man she assumed to be Mott shouted at the guards, saying he had Lady Stark and wanted an audience with the king. The gate opened at once and none other than Jaime Lannister came out to greet them.

The younger Stark girl was certainly a sight to behold. Half her hair was singed clean away, the rest of it as sodden as her clothes. Jaime sauntered toward them with a feline's grace and said, "Arya Stark, we met on the kingsroad, did we not?"

"We did not. We met in Winterfell."

Jaime smirked, "Of course we did. Come on then. This is one audience with the king I wouldn't mind sitting in on." He signalled two other goldcloaks to accompany him, stationing them on either side of Gendry and Mott, moving Arya to the position behind him in their little column.

When they arrived in the throne room King Robert was already seated on the Iron Throne, Queen Cersei at his side and Littlefinger off to the side and further back, as though he did not entirely wish to be in attendance but was present all the same. Jaime escorted the trio to the steps leading to the throne and made them stop.

"What is the meaning of this?" The king demanded.

"It seems Arya Stark is a master escapist and that a pair of smiths have had the misfortune of running into her," Jaime said with a wealth of indifference. He moved aside and mounted the first five steps toward the throne, near blocking Petyr from view.

Mott began the moment Jaime stopped moving. "Your Grace, I'll have it known that my name isn't to be soiled by this idiot boy-"

"It wasn't Gendry's fault." Arya said, cutting him off abruptly "I tripped because you startled me."

"Excuse me, I-"

"QUIET!" Robert bellowed. "You'll speak when I tell you to or not at all. Understand? Good - You, go."

Mott adjusted his collar and said with far too much dignity for his rank, "I never permit less than excellence in my smithies, Your Grace. For this to have happened while I was absent is unacceptable by my standards, you should know. I will not continue this fool's apprenticeship if this is the behaviour I can expect, I assure you. What's happened could have been avoided if the boy had any brains at all."

"Okay, be quiet." Robert said, and pointed to Gendry. "You, speak your story."

"I was working and I saw her standing there. Figured she was just some girl 'til she tells me her name is Arya Stark and that she done snuck out of the castle on a wagon. She tells me she wants to watch so I can't say 'no' 'cause she's a highborn lady, right. So I tell her best to be off the street where a cart would hit her but to stay well away from the coals and my working. She was right good about it too, no problems. Then she asks me a question that I have to answer by showing her up close. That's all fine because I don't let her close enough to be injured, Your Grace. Then she's walking back to her spot or to leave when Mott yells and she trips. Her hair passed through the fire and I threw water on her. What else should I have done? She'd have burned half her head off if I hadn't o' done."

Robert nodded, said nothing to Gendry and indicated to Arya.

"Gendry didn't do anything wrong. You can't put his head on a spike because he did save me with the water." Gendry looked at her as she said it, the disbelief evident in his face. Arya didn't see; she was looking straight ahead at the king, determined to have him believe her. "If anything Mott is the one who's responsible because he startled me and made me fall."

"I did not-"

" _What_  did I say?" Robert demanded, shutting Mott up quick enough. The king sighed heavily; Arya glanced toward the queen who was eyeing Gendry with a look that wasn't at all pleasant. Almost like she held a personal hatred for him even though she didn't know him at all. Gendry spent the whole silence staring at the floor. When the king spoke again, Cersei looked away from him. "Mott, you will keep the boy as an apprentice until he is a smith by right of experience. Your name will not be marred and you will receive double the fee from Gendry for his training."

Gendry protested, "I don't even know who's paying the fee now - How am I to get the money to match it?"

King Robert held up a hand. "Trust me boy, the man who pays your fee will know of this and will see that Mott is paid. Be done with the subject. Jaime, see that every wagon that leaves the castle here out is searched as though we suspect they are carting away the gold of Casterly Rock, do you understand. I do not want Arya Stark or anyone else leaving this castle by wagon unchecked again. Go.

"And you, Arya Stark, are the younger daughter of my oldest friend and by the gods I will not be pleased to have to issue him a letter saying that you went and got yourself burned in a smith's fire. If you do not stay within the castle walls neither your father nor your mother nor I will be very pleased with the consequences. Are we clear? You are here to become a young lady, not a little troll. Take a page from your sister's book. Even if you just pretend."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Go get your hair fixed and change your clothes before you fall ill. Mott, take your apprentice and resume your work. I'll not hear word of you punishing him anymore than I already have. If I do, it will be  _your_  head on a spike. This audience is over."

Cersei rose to gather Arya and lead her away to have her hair cut so it wasn't ugly looking. As Mott led Gendry out of the throne room Gendry glanced back over his shoulder to her. She glanced at her feet quickly, but when she looked up he was still looking at her. His eyes seemed to say  _thank you_. Those storm-like blue eyes.

[]

Tyrion and Bronn were breaking their fast when Bronn, as the sellsword was wont to do, made blunt mention of Tyrion's sleepless expression. "You look like a donkey's ass."

"Tell me again why I hired you when the procession passed by that inn?" Tyrion asked, pouring himself a cup of wine.

Bronn shrugged, "Liked my face?" and took a swallow of wine.

Tyrion chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "Fair guess. Ah, Lord Varys, to what do we owe the honour?"

The plump, bald eunuch came sweeping into the hall with all the grander of a nimble squire. His footfalls were muffled by his silken slippers and his arms were crossed over his vast belly. When he reached the table he bowed deep as he dared and said, "I have word pertaining to your inquests."

"Ah, well then, best go for a walk I think." Tyrion rose from his chair and, pausing, turned to Bronn and asked, "Do I pay you to keep my secrets?"

"If you're asking then you can afford to reinforce the presumption." Bronn said with a jesting-serious laughter.

"So be it," Tyrion gestured for the sellsword to join them and Lord Varys led the way from the hall and into the grounds of the Red Keep. "What have you found?" he asked when they were well away from anyone of import or with ears.

"Your suspicions of the Greyjoy ward may indeed be warranted." Varys began, "I have been informed that Theon has made many elaborately concealed visitations to the ports when ships from the Wall or The Dreadfort come to the harbour, as well as select ships from the Free Cities though they vary with destinations."

Tyrion glanced back to Bronn who shrugged indifferently. Looking up to Varys again the dwarf said, "Have you shared this information with anyone else?"

"As instructed I came directly to you."

"Good. It would be best not to start a war with the Iron Isles over suspicions and potential treason. If Theon Greyjoy is indeed communicating with these sailors and arranging informants we will need proof before we allow Robert to takes the boy's head. I feel Balon Greyjoy would not take too kindly to death of his last son in any state."

"I've heard the Greyjoy has made a son out of his daughter." Bronn piped up.

"Oh? and what were you doing in the Isles if your tastes are more attuned to luxury?" Tyrion asked him.

The sellsword shrugged again, "Had a job to do. People like to talk the most when you're near about to take their throat. Even if it's not about anything you asked 'em."

Lord Varys remarked Bronn carefully before looking to Tyrion who said plainly, "Be that as it may, no woman has the cock to seed heirs or claim titles. Word of this will not reach Robert until I give the command, is that clear?"

The Master of Whispers nodded and with that took his leave.

Tyrion and Bronn made their way back to the hall through the practice yards, where Sansa Stark and her direwolf beast watched knights and green boys train at a safe distance. Tyrion didn't notice his distracted state until Bronn stopped him from running into a beam of the training ring. "Distracted milord?"

"No, I walk into beams for sport. Makes me feel better about not being able to joust."

"The northern lass caught your eye."

Tyrion looked up at the sellsword. "You speak so factually on the matter."

"Am I wrong?" Bronn asked, curious.

 _My thanks, Tyrion, she had said, and she had kissed me upon the cheek._ "Not entirely. Make yourself of use and tail Theon Greyjoy. I want to know more about what he does and where he goes."

Bronn cast a glance toward Sansa, who paid them no mind, and smirked more to himself than anything. "As you would. When I know something, you'll know too." Tyrion watched the sellsword go, the closest person he had to a friend it would seem. Once Bronn was out of sight, Tyrion made his way toward Sansa.

Her dress was a beautiful grey and white, her auburn hair in simple braids that left it to fall down her back. She was standing with her hands crossed in front of her, the grey furred beast blending with the colour of her skirts. As he approached, it was the direwolf who looked to him first, it's yellow eyes seeing through him in an eerie manner he couldn't say he was found of.

The creature's movements alerted Sansa, who turned, saw him, and bowed as if on cue. "Lord Tyrion, my pardons, please. I was not paying well enough attention."

Tyrion waved her worries away. "People have been overlooking me since I was born. I am used to the slight, my lady."

"It is ill done," Sansa replied, with a resolve she didn't know the origins of. Maybe it was because he was half the size of any other man she would ever speak with, and possibly that fact made him half as intimidating as well. "I assure you that  _I_ will strive to amend for that in what small way I can. If it please you,"  _stupid, you should have left that last bit alone. Dany never would have been so commanding and then said it unless she was teasing._

The dwarf of Lannister looked at her for a long moment before he nodded. "I am amazed by your confidence, Lady Stark. Did you have anyone coming to join you here?"

"Oh, no, I came alone. My sister Arya actually told me about the place, but I didn't want anyone to know because mother always said a training yard is no fit place for a lady. I only like to watch."

 _I am sure that Varys knew you were here even before you knew you would be. That is how the capital works, Lady Sansa._ "Aye, and they seem to be showing off for you. I've never seen some of these men work so dramatically. Do you know why it's true, what your mother told you?" Sansa shook her head, her eyes on his, waiting for an answer. "Because beautiful ladies have a way of unarming even the fiercest of fighters with little more than a smile. It's not fair to expect them to be so hardened in the sight of such gentle grace. It simply cannot be done."

Sansa smiled lightly, a blush coming to her cheeks, and asked teasingly, "And you, Lord Tyrion? Are you unarmed by smiles and gentle graces?"

Tyrion looked to his feet for a moment, and back over the training ring where a few men had stopped watching to stare.  _Probably wondering who Lady Stark is speaking with, as it is unlikely that they can see me down here beneath their wooden fence._  "Perhaps, though I cannot confirm this lest my enemies learn that I can wield a sword half as well as they."

It was a joke, poorly made, but she missed it for a couple of seconds before she shook her head softly and looked to her toes with embarrassment.

"Have I made you uncomfortable, my lady? It was not my intent."

"Oh, not at all Lord Tyrion. I just ... I'm rather new to the capital and the south, so I'm trying to learn all of your manners and the like. My apologies, I have mislead you."

"That's quite all right. I know it can be unfortunate to have to weigh all of your words before you attempt to speak without offence. Trust me, Lady Sansa, that whatever slip you feel you will make, men and ladies older and younger than you make without hesitation. If you would, would you walk with me?"

"I would," Sansa said, fixing her skirts as she walked beside him. Something in his heart faltered, but outwardly Tyrion made no indication of it.  _What were you expecting her reply to be? That she secretly loves you? Stupid dwarf, she's betrothed to your nephew._

"Lord Tyrion?" Sansa spoke, breaking his conflicting thoughts the way a stone shatters glass - as if it had never been what it once was.

"Hmm?"

"I had only asked if you minded Lady's presence on our walk."

Tyrion blinked, glanced to the direwolf and shook his head, smiling. "As long as the beast doesn't attack me, I don't mind."

Sansa smiled back, scratching the wolf behind the ears. "You are kind, Lord Tyrion."

"And you, Lady Stark, are quite beautiful. I must say I was surprised to behold you all the way in Winterfell. Such a sombre place for someone of your nature."

A pink colour crept along her cheeks, and she had to look away from him for a moment to compose herself again.  _He's twice my years at least and only the Queen's dwarf brother. Where it Jaime Lannister,_  but her mind stopped because she could not think of a way to finish the thought. "My thanks, truly. It is a generous thing to say." _  
_

"Truths I find are never generous in the capital. Lies, always, but truths are rarely truths and not masquerading lies."

That peeked her interest. "Oh, are there many dishonest men in the capital?"

"It is the capital of the realm and of dishonest men, if the proclamations in taverns and inns" - _and brothels-_  "are to be believed."

Sansa continually slowed her pace whenever she realized how fast she was forcing Tyrion to walk with her longer strides, and replied jokingly, "If this is also true, how am I to believe your word? Perhaps you are another liar amongst the liars I've already unknowingly encountered."

"My Lady Stark, you wound me," Tyrion said with dramatically feigned hurt. It made her honestly giggle, which made him happy.

They walked and talked their way through the grounds of the keep, around to the godswood and back through the gardens and close to the view of the water. They spoke of the capital, of Winterfell, of things she knew and didn't know, and of stories she'd heard of that he himself had long forgotten. He brought up books, how he preferred to read in the dark by candle light and with a flagon of wine to accompany him; Sansa asked how often he read, of what he read, and of what he did with the information. "I learn from the mistakes of other men so that I at least do not fall to repeat them," had been his answer. Sansa had rolled the statement over in her mind a moment before asking if he could think of a book he had read that she might like to read also.

"None of what I read would be too dreadfully interesting in your mind I fear."

Sansa waved the comment away, the natural happenstance of the motion comfortable. She no longer felt that she had to be obscenely proper in his presence, with 'milord's' and 'my apologies' and the like, a strange freedom she couldn't remember having possessed before.  _Perhaps there is a reason for Arya's refusal to become a_ _proper lady_. "Nonsense. It sounds genuinely fascinating. I should like to read at very least one."

"Mayhaps you'll find a book about the dragons of old to your taste then if you insist? It is the closest to songs I fear, and still a deal apart from them."

Tyrion watched a new light come to her eyes. It made his heart leap like a joyful child. "Dragons? Truly you have a book of them?"

"I have many books of dragons, their riders and rulers and histories all."

"I should love more than anything to read a book of dragons," Sansa said, clasping her hands together before her as though she had been told she was Queen of the Realm.

"If it please you, and I mean no offence, but if your interest is so great, I could show you also what remains of the dragons that once had a place in Westeros."

Sansa forgot herself in a blissful moment, dancing from one foot to the next in her joy. "Would you? Could you truly do as you say?" Tyrion's immediate thought was:  _You've never made a woman so happy in all your life and not had to hand over a coin to make it happen._

The Stark girl regained herself as she listened to him reply. "Aye, but of course. Now that I've said I can, I must do no less. It would be unseemly of me wouldn't you agree? Some might take me for half the man I already am."

"You are twice the man others I've come across have been." Sansa assured him, thinking of the Hound and his vicious nature, and of Joffrey and his horrible manners.

They walked side by side back toward the yards and buildings. Inside Sansa allowed Tyrion to take the lead so that she wouldn't become lost, but even then she was half the time beside him as his waddling-walk slowed him. She didn't mind at all. He may not be the most handsome man she'd ever beheld, but he was the most interesting, and the most friendly she had known since leaving Winterfell. He seemed to genuinely like her company also, which made her feel even better about the prospects of keeping on good terms with him.  _A man of the capital you would_ not _be foolish to trust, if what he says of liars is true._   _  
_

When at last they came to the door Sansa felt as though they had been walking for many hours. Outside in the sun and gardens she had not even chanced to notice the time she had spent walking with Tyrion as they conversed. Now though, in the gloom, she became aware of it, and a chill came over her as Tyrion passed her a torch of her own. _You're going to see dragons, true dragons._  The thought made her wish Daenerys was there with her also. Dragons were the sigil of her House.  _I'll have to bring her here, if ever she comes to Kings Landing._  Tyrion pushed open the door and a night-like darkness came spilling from the chamber beyond like a cold winter front.

He offered his hand to her and she took it thankfully; when her skin touched hers she feared he would think her hand too cold to hold onto, but he didn't remark on her temperature so he must not have minded too much, or else he didn't notice. Lady followed in after them, a short distance behind Sansa.

The light from their torches cast a pool of orange and yellow around them, deepening the shadows in the recesses of the fire's range. Then they appeared like phantoms from the shadows. Sansa saw the sharp black fangs taller than she was jutting up from the jaw bone as they approached. Far above there was a place were once the eyes of the beast had been, so high above her that even her upraised arm and torch could not do more than give her a vague idea. Absently her hand tightened it's hold on Tyrion's.

"Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes were the largest. They were the dragons brought over to Westeros by the Targaryens when they came and conquered the Seven Kingdoms." Tyrion's voice sounded larger then it was, and quieter in the same sweep. The chamber seemed to know that they were there, the skulls looking upon the pair of them and naming them intruders. Or her at least. Lady seemed to sense it too, brushing against Sansa's skirts and staying close thereafter.

"Are they not all so grand?"

"Shamefully, no. The last dragon skull is roughly the size of a small chair seat."

There was a beauty to the sadness that greeted the comment, flickering in her eyes in time to the torch's rhythm. He let her slip her fingers from his, and watched her move tentatively through the skulls, her direwolf close to her side. Her hair cascaded down her back, dark as blood garnets in the shadows. Her dress looked black, and the darkness seemed to want to swallow her without knowing how to go about it. The further she went the smaller Tyrion felt until she was only a glow of flame that moved with a seamless grace against the blackness, and he stood alone, hardly comparable in size to the fang of the ancient beast that had once dominated the skies.


	11. Warrior Women

**Warrior Women**

Cersei left the throne room with Arya Stark in tow. The girl was a lost cause, anyone with eyes could see that plain enough. Having to cut her hair so short would only serve to emphasize that. What respectable girl keep her hair short, let alone a highborn lady? Arya did not say a word as Cersei led her to a groomer.  _This is how the gods have chosen to punish me for my sins. So be it. I will pass this test as I have passed those well behind me._

Putting on a gentlewoman's face, the queen slowed to walk beside the young girl. As kind as she dared, Cersei said, "Arya, darling, you must tell me what possessed you to run off into the city on your own."

"I could go into Winter Town whenever I pleased back in Winterfell," was the girl's quick-tongued response.

"All on your own? I hardly dare to believe that."

"Well not on my own, no. With Sansa, or D-Jon, if they'd take me."

Cersei lifted an eyebrow at the slight trip in names, but did not press for a correction.  _If she thinks I cannot tell a lie from leagues away, she is as misguided as her elder sister._  Instead she said, "Sansa would not accompany you this time?"

"I couldn't find her,"  _another lie; you knew she would be watching knights practice._  "and besides, nobody seems to want us to leave the castle."  _That is not a_   _lie_ , Cersei mused privately. "All I wanted to do was see the city up close."

The queen smiled sweetly, "Oh darling Arya, you need only have asked myself or the king. We would have ordered a guard to keep you safe, or else I would have gone with you in a litter so that I could offer you what knowledge I know. King's Landing is quite different from Winterfell, I'm sure you learned today. I do not mean to scare you, but you must be careful here."

"I did learn that today." Arya Stark said with a sharp nod. "In Winter Town a fruit merchant would have offered me an apple. One here near took my hand off when I went to see if they were the same as back home."

"He probably thought you a thief. Men in the south are not near as trusting as men north of the Neck. Though I suspect you found one you believed to be rather handsome..."

The queen trailed off and watched the young girl think only a moment before saying sharply, "Gendry? No, I don't think he's handsome."

Cersei laughed warmly. "Oh come now, there is no harm in merely looking. Gods know that men look all the time at what they know they shouldn't touch. At least as a woman you will be wise enough to keep your hands away, unlike men. You are in good company. Any secrets you tell me will stay secrets, never fear child. So long as you are in the capital, I will look out for you."

Arya shifted uncomfortably, staring up at the queen the way Myrcella had often looked at Joffrey when she was younger. With an expression torn between believing and mistrust. "Okay, he was pretty handsome. But you can't tell Sansa, not ever. She'll tell me 'it's not proper for a lady to be smitten by a blacksmith.'" Arya said in a mocking tone of her sister's voice.

This time the queen laughed for real, an honest lovely laugh. Arya thought it made her look actually happy, the first time she had seen the queen look that way. "I suspect she would use that voice as well, wouldn't she?"

"She would," Arya agreed. _  
_

 _You don't say more than you need to do you. Perhaps this place will not ruin you so horribly._ "Come on then, in you go." Cersei ushered the girl into a chamber with scissors and measuring strings and high stools and false people pinned with half-crafted dresses. An older man was working with many pins in his mouth, a pair of scissors hanging by a chair at his neck and fabric over his shoulder. "Mager," the queen addressed him. The pins fell to the floor immediately and the tailor bowed deeply.

"My queen, Your Grace. For what may I thank the gods for this honour?"

"You are kind. Thank them for your skill, and pray they help you wield it well. I'll have Arya Stark's hair cut no shorter than it need be, am I clear? Clean it up at the ends and style it well. If you fail at that, you will know your punishment."

The old man nodded vigorously and motioned for Arya to sit on a stool he quickly cleared off. Cersei turned on her heel and made to leave. "When she is done, escort her to me before she goes anywhere else."

Mager assured her that he would do just that; Cersei left without bothering to close the door. She had more important matters to tend to then watching the younger Stark receive what would regardlessly be a horrific haircut. She doubted even the Grand Maester without his glorious white beard would look half so misplaced as a lady with short hair.

Dismissing the guards that saw and attempted to follow after her with a sharp-tongued, "Did I ask for your company?" That rid her of their company quick enough. Cersei walked out across the yard to the White Sword Tower, her golden hair shimmering in the warm sun. The light caught the gold threading of her red satin gown, making it appear as though she herself was glittering. The queen knew this and moved with the confidence a woman should possess when wearing such a dress.

"Ser Jaime," she said by way of announcing her arrival. Her brother was seated at a small table with another man of the kingsguard. He rose when she called his name and followed after her when she asked for a word. She led him back outside, away from the listening ears of the kingsguard and the pest-like presence of Lord Varys' little birds.

"Sweet sister, what is it? Surely you can speak your mind here?" Jaime said after they had walked ten minutes further than was necessary, a precaution she was felt she needed to take.

"Yes, I can, but only here and only so long as we are undisturbed or overheard."

"What bothers you? Is it Arya Stark? She's annoying, all of the castle is aware so don't go getting yourself strung up on it. According to Barristan she was hacking at shrubs with a stick not two nights past, out of her bedchamber in only her night dress. She'll never learn. Accept it."

Cersei scoffed. "I will not. If the gods think they have given me a challenge I cannot best then they are sorely mistaken. Arya Stark, however irritating, is not why I am here. It's the apprentice boy, the one you brought to the throne room."

Jaime didn't so much as lift an eyebrow, "What of him?"

"He is one of Robert's bastards."

Jaime studied her for a long moment, his green eyes reflections of her own, his golden hair curling softly at his ears, lips begging her to kiss him. At last he shrugged, snapping her from her trace. "And this troubles you why? Robert has been seeding bastards since he was sixteen."

"Yes and all of them have dark hair."

"And they all live far away from here."

"Except for this Gendry, or have you been blind so as to not notice?"

Her brother sighed and for a moment she thought she spied weakness in the way his white-scale armour pressed against his muscled shoulders. Maybe she was wrong, but what if she wasn't? "Cersei, please. If Gendry is one of Robert's many bastards, he had obviously chosen not to acknowledge the lad. That means that it is the king, you and I who know the truth, but no other man would be fool enough to call Joffrey or Myrcella or Tommen illegitimate."

"They are  _not_  illegitimate!" Cersei snapped a bit too harshly, a bit too quick.

"Of course they aren't. You and  _Robert_  made them, all three, and they are the trueborn heirs to the throne. Everyone knows this, and those who question it will have their tongues or heads removed as Robert sees fit for the traitorous notion." Jaime took her shoulders in his hands and brought her close to him; she didn't struggle and for it he was glad. "You need not worry, sweet sister. The king is a blind fool and he'll protect you. If he fails, I will kill your enemies, all of them, until you and I are the only ones left to this world."

Cersei drew back from her brother, her lover, and looked into those mirror green eyes of his. Jaime knew the look, knew it as well as he knew the edge of every blade he'd ever held, and it buried a fearful excitement to his core the way facing a raging battle never could. She kissed him quickly, too quick for him to grab her and kiss her back; she slipped through his fingers like blood through broken armour.

"Then kill the boy."

[]

Ygritte stood before Lord Commander Mormont with the fiery fury Jon had never seen in any person's eyes, except perhaps King Robert's that unfortunate night back in Winterfell. Jon stood at Mormont's side while the Lord Commander remained seated in his chair. "Is this how your  _council_ respects you Crow King? He did not even rise when you entered the room."

"Lord Commander Mormont is on in his years. He provides me with a generous and valued council in war and materials I admire. I wish to keep him as long as the gods permit, and therefore I ease the strain his body must endure." Jon replied swiftly, leaning close to Mormont to whisper briefly the details of the situation so that Ygritte would not overhear. "She thinks me our king, she has a message from Mance Ryder. Play along."

The wildling woman pointed a hand toward maester Aemon who stood leaning on his cane beside Samwell. "And that man? He is blind. How can he serve you?"

"Maester Aemon is more than a hundred years old. He is a healer and a learned man. His knowledge outlives his sight, this is true, but he can recall details from decades past, information of use to me."

"The fat one? What does he do?"

Jon cast a glance at Sam and looked back to Ygritte. "He is an apprentice under Maester Aemon to be sure, but he is skilled with a sword and the longbow, can train animals quick as an arrow flies, and he can keep records better than any man I know. His weight has little impact on his abilities."

"And this one is the captain of your army?" Ygritte gestured over her shoulder to Benjen.

"Naturally." The answers seemed to satisfy her, her shoulders relaxing some as she folded her arms over her chest.

"You have a message for us then? From Mance Ryder," Mormont spoke with more command than Jon felt he had done.

Ygritte glanced at him icily, focusing her eyes on Jon again. "Aye, I have a message for you, and I'll have an answer to leave with."

"What is your message, child?" Aemon asked delicately.

Ygritte looked like she would take a dagger to the man for calling her a child but she restrained herself. Her fingers flexed over the hilt of her short blade and the shaft of her spear. To Jon she spoke again. "Mance Ryder would have permission for his people to cross the Wall in peace."

"Why?" Mormont asked, much to Jon's gratefulness. His instinct would have been to outright refuse her, but he was only playing a role and it was not befit his rank to do more than that. Lord Mormont was the one who should make all the final decisions.

"Why would Mance want to come south of the Wall?" Jon elaborated, knowing Ygritte would only answer him.  _She's terrified of this place, in awe of it but terrified. She would be swiftly gone, as Benjen would like her swiftly gone._

"Mance says there is an army we cannot fight, not us and not you crows neither. Mance says nowhere is goin' o' be safe when the long night comes."

"Which army is this."

"Army o' the dead. The White Walkers and their wights."

A thick silence blanketed the solar for a few long moments. Mormont motioned for Jon to lean in, and when he did, Mormont whispered to him. "You must as command she remain through the night. We will send her off on the morrow with an answer and provisions."

Jon gave a nod and walked to Sam, saying again in whispers, "Seat maester Aemon. Mormont will want to discuss this once the wildling is gone."

Sam nodded quickly, his chins jiggling as he did, and he moved to get a seat for the old maester. Jon turned to Ygritte and said with all the command he could muster, "My men and I have decided that we shall give you your answer on the morrow."

"I want my answer now."

"On the morrow." Jon repeated. "You are to stay the night in Castle Black and come dawn we shall send you off with your answer for Mance and what provisions we have to spare you."

"Spare me your lies, Jon Snow. I will not be the prisoner o' no crows. I won't!" Her dagger was halfway out of it's sheath when Benjen grabbed both her arms and forced them behind her back. Her spear fell to the floor and her dagger back into it's cover. The wildling struggled against his uncle but Benjen was stronger than she was, her kicking a fruitless effort to free herself. "Release me! You rotted crows! The lot o' you are rotted bastards!"

"Benjen, remove her, please," Jon said more for show than for need. Of course his uncle would know where to take the wildling to keep her from killing anyone or escaping. As Benjen hauled her away still struggling, her eyes fell on his for a moment. Blue-violet as frostfangs, and betrayed.  _Don't,_  he chided himself, closing the door behind them. He picked her spear off the floor and leaned it beside the door, a crudely fashioned, well weathered thing.

The moment he turned back to Mormont the Lord Commander demanded, "Why in the realm did that wildling think you are our king? No, first answer me why in seven hells you when beyond the Wall in the first place. Did I give you leave to do so?"

"No, Lord Commander you did not. I begged my uncle Benjen to allow me to join his party, and I will accept the consequences and punishments as you see fit for my actions."

"You bloody well will. Why dose the wildling think you the king of us?"

"Because of Ghost, my direwolf. She called him the beast of the old gods, said I was chosen by them." Jon replied truthfully, looking Mormont in the eye so he could see that Jon was not trying to lie.

Mormont considered this for a moment while maester Aemon and Sam waited. Finally he declared, "I will determine your punishment on the morrow. For now, we must judge the validity of this wildling's message."

"Wildlings cannot cross the Wall," Sam said instantly.

"Wildlings have been crossing the Wall since you were a babe at your mother's teat," Mormont responded. "At the castles we cannot afford to man, the raiders will scale the Wall and plunge into the south for goods before they make the journey in reverse. Whether they can cross the Wall is not the point of this discussion. It's why Mance Ryder would dare to ask us to allow a mass exodus to occur."

"He had his envoy mention White Walkers," maester Aemon pointed out. "'An army we cannot fight' that 'nowhere will be safe when the long night comes.'"

Jon looked to Aemon and nodded, "It sounds like a story Old Nan would tell us at Winterfell, about White Walkers and the Long Night. It happened near a millennia past, from what I know."

"Aye, that's what I heard also. Eight hundred years ago was the last time White Walkers were heard of. There haven't been any records since I wouldn't think." Sam said.

"Wouldn't think or know for sure?" Mormont asked him. "Go and search the texts. I will not be left guessing, am I clear?"

"Yes, Lord Commander." Sam rose from his seat and glanced back to maester Aemon, who smiled back and nodded for him to go. Sometimes Jon wondered how truly blind the frail old maester really was.

Once Sam was gone Mormont turned to Jon again and said. "You want to go beyond the Wall so bad? You will accompany this wildling back to Mance with our message."

"Alone? What if she leads me to an ambush?"

"Then Mance Ryder will never hear the answer to his question. The wildling will know nothing. Her sole responsibility is to return to Mance with you."

"And once I'm to Mance, what will I tell him?"

"That depends on if White Walkers are truly returned. The wildling thinks you are our king, Mance Ryder will have no cause to doubt your position of power when he learns I sent you."

Jon stared at his superior incredulously. "You want me to make the decision of letting wildlings south of the Wall based on weather or not I manage to run across a band of White Walkers?

Mormont looked at Jon dead in the eye and said with an unflinching resolve, "I want you to make a decision and know that whatever you chose, the realm will answer for it. One way, or the next."

[]

The journey from the east was long and tedious, and mercifully at an end. Brienne had found no salvation from mockery in her travels; no lord would take her, and no lady would even express the graces of laughing at her back. They laughed in her face instead, every one of them, with their dainty bodies and long flowing hair, and their guards and lordly companions. It wouldn't matter if anyone liked her in the capital. She would be happy defending a shopkeep and his family so long as they gave her food for payment. Hopefully, if the king rejected her, she would find as much in at least one someone.

Keeping her helm down as she neared the gates, she asked leave to speak with the king.

"What message do you bear for him, and from whom?" A guard called down, his gold cloak shifting as he did.

"A message for the king's hearing only is what message I bear. It is from the hand of Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall." She held up a folded page bearing her father's seal, knowing they would not dare open it, and knowing also that it was empty of ink.

The men regarded her for a moment, one coming close enough to confirm the sigil of the seal. Brienne had pressed it herself when her father would not. "Empty pages do not need a seal," he had told her, she remembered, his voice as clear as though he were with her even then.

"Audiences with lords and the king will," she had rebuked, waiting with her palm up for his ring. He had given it to her knowing that he shouldn't. He had never been able to refuse her often, and never as of late.

"I only ask that if no one take you, you come home to me. I will see to it that Evenfall Hall be yours to rule. Be safe, my sweet girl."

In a way it had pained her to go. She knew she was all the family her father had left, that he would not take a wife again nor father another child. For herself, she had to leave and see the world. She wanted to fight along side the best of them, protect the innocent and the weak. She wanted to prove she could be the ruler of her fate, before she was anyone else's. "I will do my best, Father."

"You always have," he said with a nod, his greying hair long and tied back. She had left him there in his solar, riding out of the castle walls by the midday sun.

Finally the guards allowed her to pass through, one of them calling to another, "Escort him to the throne room."  _When I'm hidden inside armour they think me equal to them. Why must my birth as a woman ruin that?_

The castle was huge, the Red Keep expansive the way other lands and castles of lesser Houses would never be. Buildings towered above her, greater than the last, and men practiced in yards while ladies strolled through the green spaces and servants hurried to and from places she might never see.

"In here," her escort grumbled, stepping back as she dismounted. "Your horse will be in the stables, the king will be with you shortly. Best you take your helm off too," he eyed her suspiciously, but left her presence regardless.

Brienne watched him go and rolled her eyes. What person would be stupid enough to attack the king in his own throne room?  _He'll be guarded by the most noble of the kingsguard, and other knights will be there too._  She walked inside the throne room.

Massive columns speared into the great arched ceiling of the cavernous room, thick as a giant's body if her childhood stories could be believed. Grande tapestries hung from the walls and the marbled floor was magnificently worked with varying colours. Brienne had seen her share of great halls, but none could compare with that of the Red Keep and the Iron Throne.

She strode toward the seat of the king with an outward confidence. Inside, she was uncertain of her ploy to gain employment.  _The king will laugh when I remove my helm, he will laugh again when I am made to hand over the pages which say_ _nothing. This is folly, surely. My father would make me the Lady of Tarth, allow me to rule as any Lord would..._  but there was a time and place for mindless worrying and it had passed long ago. Brienne stopped before the stairs which led to the throne and waited.

"From Tarth? What the blazes does Tarth want?"

"A message is all we know, Your Grace. Be glad it is not Arya Stark again."

"Eight complaints in not five days. That girl is a fright to behold - Mayhaps we'll send her back, slight or not. Ned would understand."

"Indeed, Your Grace. Say the word and it shall be done."

"There will be no word saying now, tempted as I might be."

Brienne listened to the conversation as the voices grew louder, finally revealing their beholders. King Robert was a portly man, his beard thick and arms thicker, the crown upon his head gold and heavy to look at. She could only imagine it's true weight. At his side walked a thinner man, and younger, with a small pointed beard at his chin and close cut hair. Further back a second portly man - though not so much as the king - followed them, his head as bald as his face and his slippers ne'er making a sound. Beside the bald man waddled the Imp; leading the party was a man with flowing golden hair, white enamelled armour and a bored expression on his face.  _Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer._

"You there," the king gestured toward her, "you're the messenger from Tarth?"

"Aye, Your Grace," Brienne replied, bending to one knee as King Robert stood over her.

She watched him sit on the throne and make himself comfortable. "Rise. Lannister, fetch the letter."

Jaime came toward her as she returned to her feet, a curiosity in his eyes as he approached and a comfortable cockiness in his posture as he extended a hand for the letter. He moved his fingers to hurry her; she placed the pages in his hand, swallowed her scarce pride and waited as Jaime took his sweet time waltzing back to the king.  _I should put my sword through his back as he had done to King Aerys,_  she thought bitterly.

The king's thick fingers broke the seal and unfolded the pages. He looked at them a long while, as though there were words to read. The other men lingered with near undetectable impatience. At last the king looked back to her and asked, "What is the meaning of this?" He let the blank pages fall from his hands for the rest of them to see.

"Your Grace, Selwyn Tarth has no message for you. I do," Brienne removed her helm and shook out what short hair she had. Jaime Lannister's face broke into a grin the likes of which she had seen on men's faces before.  _I would knock you to the dirt if I was given a chance._  "I am Brienne of Tarth, and I seek employment in your guard, your household, or wherever you believe I will be of good use for you, Your Grace."

"Brienne the Beauty?" Jaime said with a cruel smirk. "Far from home aren't you?"

"Quiet," the king grumbled. "Your father sent you here?"

"No, Your Grace. I asked pardon to leave Tarth so that I may serve you loyally here in the capital."

The king reclined as much as he dared, considering her request. He looked to the man with the pointed beard, to the bald one, and to the Imp who Brienne knew well by the stories told of him. "Littlefinger, your thoughts."

"She is hardly a man, hardly a woman - no offence my lady."

"Brienne will suffice," she told him stiffly.

Littlefinger gave a nod. "Very well. Brienne would be an odd installment to the guard or city watch nevertheless, Your Grace."

"If I may, Your Grace," the Imp said, rising and walking down a portion of the stairs so that he stood behind his elder brother still but in front of the king at an angle. "Perhaps Brienne would be good for Arya Stark. The girl lacks the means to be a proper lady as of yet, but she truly lacks discipline. Should Brienne desire work, give her to Arya Stark to guard and teach."

The king chuckled, shaking his great head. "You're too smart for your size, Imp. What say you, Brienne of Tarth? Does personal guarding of the Stark girls appeal to you?"

"The honour would be mine if you would grant it unto me, Your Grace."

"Yes, yes, enough with the bowing and bending knees. If they get in trouble the blame will fall to you, understood? Now go. Kingslayer, help her find Arya Stark."

Jaime's smug grin didn't falter as he bowed at the waist and strode past her wordlessly. When they were outside the throne room that changed.

"How does it feel to be a fighter without a cock, and a lady without tits? I can't imagine it's pleasant."

"What does Arya Stark look like?" was her reply.

Jaime shrugged in an indifferent manner. "Short, ugly little thing. Burnt half her hair off not a week past."

"You shouldn't speak of a highborn lady like that."

The Kingslayer scoffed, looking at her side on. "You shouldn't be dancing around in men's clothes, sporting a sword, yet there you are." He took a faster pace, but Brienne kept up fine enough. She'd been keeping up with men like him most of her life, and the years only made it easier.

They rounded a building and came into a garden alcove where a girl with bright auburn hair and a pleasant dress stood next to whom Brienne had to assume to be Arya Stark. She was shorter but not by too much, with dark hair that fell above her shoulders and was poorly curled. She was dressed in boy's clothes and riding boots, standing with her arms folded and a disinterest in her shoulders. A great wolf-beast stood at her side, another at the other side of the auburn haired girl.

"Ladies, if I might interrupt," Jaime said, drawing the girls' attention from the fountain.

Arya raised her eyebrows at the Kingslayer but the other Stark girl was more of a lady and curtseyed politely. "Of course, Ser Jaime."

"I've been instructed to bring you Brienne of Tarth. She arrived this afternoon and is to be your guard. Specifically yours, Arya."

"I don't need a guard," Arya retorted hotly, her beast growling; the other beast didn't make a sound, sitting patiently beside the lady with the auburn hair. Brienne looked from Arya, who reminded her of a version of her younger self, to her older sister, who seemed dazed and not quite present before them.  _At least she's not gawking at you,_  Brienne told herself.

Jaime smiled that insolent smile of his, casting a superior glance down at the wolf, and nodded, "Naturally. Think of her more as a guard for everyone else, then, so you don't wind up hurting the servants and stable boys." Arya glared at him; Jaime ignored her. He bowed to Sansa, "Lady Sansa, good day,"

Sansa blinked, returning to the present with a gracious, simple smile and a faint blush. She bowed her head and bid the Kingslayer good day. Jaime turned on his heel and was gone, not a word of leaving to either Arya Stark nor Brienne.

"Are you truly a knight?" Arya asked her instantly.

Sansa groaned. "Women can't be knighted, Arya. She's more like a warrior woman. Think the Lady of Bear Island, Dacey Mormont. And stop frowning. You'll make yourself look old by your tenth name day."

Arya narrowed her eyes at her sister in spite, looking back up at Brienne, who towered over her so she had to crane her neck back. "So you're still a fighter then?"

Brienne nodded, confused but welcoming of the younger Stark's innocent interest in her. "I am,"

Arya's face lit up, giving her a beauty despite the awful haircut that Brienne had once dreamed she might achieve. "Can you teach me to fight?"

"Absolutely not," Sansa said at once. Arya began to protest but Sansa held up a hand to silence her. "Lady Brienne, can I have a word?"

Brienne nodded, "Call me Brienne, if it please you, Lady Sansa. I am no lady myself." Sansa nodded and walked a little ways away from Arya. Brienne followed.

"My sister must become a lady of some sort, she must. Our father is the Warden of the North, the lord of Winterfell. It would be shameful if she cannot manage to pretend to be pleasant and presentable. I want you to keep her in line and away from the habits of men."

"Of course, my lady."

"But I also would appreciate if you would show her how to properly fight and defend herself with a sword."

Brienne looked down on the little auburn haired lady. She couldn't yet be a maid, yet she spoke as confidently as some of the women Brienne had seen in her father's court and at tournaments at the Arbor. "You would then prefer that be done in private, I assume."

"As private as the Red Keep allows you, yes. Call it her needlework when someone asks you, have her do the same. Do not mention that I asked this of you. She won't receive you well if you do. Arya makes it a habit of defying me."

Brienne could only nod. "Of course, my lady."

"My thanks. If I should have need of you, I will summon you to me?" She sounded uncertain there, like she wasn't sure she had the authority to do anything like that.

"I would come at once."

Sansa smiled beautifully. "All right. Fare well, I have other company to attend."

Brienne watched her stride away, her gown of flawless ivory making her hair even more like fire when it was touched by the sun. Her wolf-beast moved at her side, it's footfalls hushed and dainty as her master. She turned back to Arya, in her boys clothes with her short dark hair and walked toward the girl. "What did Sansa tell you?" She asked at once, looking weary for a moment before her face rendered itself unreadable.  _That's a good trait to carry,_ Brienne thought.  _Less weakness for an enemy to detect._

"She told me to make sure you acted like a proper lady." Arya groaned and began her protests when Brienne lifted a hand and finished, "But I have a better idea."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be much longer, but that would also mean a longer wait for all of my awesome readers. The rest will come soonish, with answers surrounding what's going to happen in Winterfell, with Bran, Dany, and Robb, and if Jon survives going Beyond the Wall. I try to answer all your concerns posted in your reviews (is Bran a greenseer? where are the direwolves?) in the story as best I can. I'm also planning on introducing places beyond the Narrow Sea, and we'll see how life in King's Landing is about to become a little more interesting...
> 
> Stay tuned.


	12. Not for All the Gold in Casterly  Rock

**Not for All the Gold of Casterly Rock**

Dany stood in the yard, her cloak hanging off her shoulders loosely, her dress fastened up to the base of her throat. Bran was showing her how well he had come to be able to loose arrows accurately. He landed one inside the target for every three he aimed, an improvement both Dany and Bran were proud of. "You learn quick as your brothers," Dany told him, when all his arrows were gone.

"I'm still getting better. Knights have to aim all the arrows in the target, but one in three is good for my age, maester Luwin and Jory say so."

"They aren't wrong," Dany told him, and he smiled warmly back at her. Oh how she would miss his smiles.

Dany had told Robb half a fortnight past that she needed to leave Winterfell once again. This time, it wasn't in the wake of the royal family, but by her own accord. She felt it necessary to try, to see if there was a way to ensure the absolute safety of her beloved family.  _Even if they are not my blood, they have my love, and that is enough._  Robb had agreed reluctantly, telling her as they lay together in his bed how he would send part of the household guard with her, how Jory would be at her side always, and how they would ensure she would return safely. Dany still didn't fool herself into believing that Robb agreed with the possibility that dragons could return to the world. He had too much of his father in him for that, a level-headedness and a realism that clouded the childhood notions of imagining from disrupting his responsibilities.

"You're leaving tomorrow, right?" Bran asked, setting his arrows aside.

"I am," Dany said with a nod. "Unless your brother decides I must wait a while longer."

"Where are you going?"

Reciting what Robb and told her, she said, "To the Dreadfort so that I can cross the Narrow Sea to Bravvos, and then by land I will travel to Asshai by the Shadow."

Bran nodded slowly, looking down at his feet for a moment before looking back to her. "Mother always said that Asshai by the Shadow was a dangerous place. Maester Luwin told me also that nobody really knows what happens there. Will you be safe?"

"As long as I have Jory, I will be as safe as I could be."

"You would be safer here." Bran mumbled, his handsome face growing sad. He rubbed his eyes roughly to keep himself from crying.

Dany, seeing this, knelt before him and took his hands in her own. It was hard to imagine that he was already so grown, nine years that and gone past as if they were nothing more that ten breaths. "I would be, you're right. Did Robb tell you why I was leaving?" Bran shook his head. "I'm leaving because I have three dragon eggs that I want to hatch into real living dragons. I can't do that in Winterfell, but when I do hatch them, I'm bringing them back here."

That sparked his interest. "Real dragons? Like what I dream about sometimes?"

"You dream about dragons?" Dany asked, interested, with a light smile.

Bran nodded, "I do. Sometimes I dream that I'm Summer and I hunt things, and sometimes I dream about ships and sailing, and other times I dream about three dragons, black and green and white, and they breath green and blue fire."

 _Black and green and white. Just like the eggs._  Dany wondered if Robb had ever shown Bran, but then realized that he probably hadn't, otherwise Bran would know that she had them in the first place, which he hadn't. With an excitement in her voice, she looked in Bran's eyes and begged, "Really? Well you simply must tell me more about these dreams."

The middle Stark boy blushed, grinding the toe of his boot in the dirt. "Well in the dragon dreams I just watch, but in one dream the dragons found these weird cities , with bright colours and red dirt. Another time they lifted a whole fleet of ships right out of the water and flew across the sea with them on their backs."

"Interesting."  _Dangerous, my poor Bran,_ Dany thought, thinking of her bedchamber and her confinement, of how maester Luwin and Lord Stark had asked her over and over every morning and night what she had dreamt about. Thinking of that, she asked Bran with a curiosity and a fear, "What about when you're Summer?"

Bran, blind to her thoughts and her worrying told her with a renewed excitement. "My wolf dreams are my favourite! When I'm Summer, I go into the wolfswood with Shaggydog and Grey Wind and we hunt deer and rabbits and I get to eat them. It's weird, but still pretty cool. We came across a pack of normal wolves one time and scared them away because it's our land. Another time we found a wildling woman and her babe, but we let her alone because she had a sweet voice like honey and keep the old gods. We probably should have killed her because she was a wildling, but we didn't. She was just passing through, and it was only a dream after all."

"Only a dream indeed. Fascinating though, don't you think?" Bran nodded and she kissed his brow. "Run on now, I must speak with Maester Luwin before I leave."

"You can't go without saying goodbye," Bran told her pointedly as he slung the quiver over her shoulder.

Dany smiled at him, "I promise, I won't."

Satisfied, Bran walked off, Summer at his heels. Dany watched him for a moment, his direwolf near as tall as he was. Then she turned swiftly and marched toward the tower that contained the library. She would go to Maester Luwin, yes, but first she would find out what she could so that she could warn Robb. She wasn't a fool; she knew the maester and Lord Eddard had reason to believe she was having prophetic dreams. Only she didn't know why or whether it was the truth.  _If Bran is having them too, then there must be a reason for them to have started now._

[]

Robb was seated in his father's solar, behind the great carved table surrounded by the books of records and accounts, of matters of state and letters from the past two months of correspondence. He reread the last letter sent to him from the Lord of the Dreadfort. It was simple, and short, but all the details were previously agreed upon in letters past. This one was merely conformation.

 _Lord Stark_  
A ship will await Lady Yvetta and her guard's arrival. I can promise only safe boarding and passage into the Narrow Sea. Beyond that I will not be responsible for her protection.  
Lord Bolton

Despite the Lord of the Dreadfort being a liege lord to House Stark, Robb did not trust that the secret of who Daenerys was to be kept inside the folds of paper, nor within Lord Bolton's mind. There was no denying that men might come to recognize her by her hair or even by her eyes, but considering Viserys and how he had met his end, Robb was willing to take the chance of owing an apology later than dealing with murder when she arrived at the harbour.

Setting the letter aside, Robb pinched the bridge of his nose and moved from matters of Daenerys to matters of accounts. They had finally finished paying the merchants for the food they had purchased and the men who had stepped forward to ensure extra guard for the duration of the royal visit now seven months past. It had been his lord father who had imposed a fair and even tax increase and now it was Robb who was returning them to their normal patterns. Naturally, brothels paired more to operate than merchants of food, but both paid less than those who brought imports from the Dreadfort.

Robb was in the midst of weighing the benefits and shortcomings of imposing a regulation were for children not yet of age a slight pardon might be given to their parents, and believed that perhaps there was such an idea elsewhere recorded, when a guard came and announced Jory's arrival. Robb stood and asked for Jory to be allowed to enter.

The newly appointed master-of-arms came through the solar door, closing it behind him. His hair was to his shoulders and dark, the beginnings of a beard noticeable on his cheeks and neck. Jory bowed slightly at the waist and said, "Ron told me you wished to see me, my lord?"

Robb gave a singular nod, "Yes, regarding your pending departure to Essos with Daenerys Targaryen. Please," he gestured to the chair and Jory sat, Robb seating himself as well. He offered Jory wine, which the other man accepted. Then Robb began, "As you understand, you are to be her primary guard, her closest confident, and that you are never to leave her side."

"Aye, as you well asked of me. I feel I am able to carry out the orders, and only hope I do not disappoint you."

"Never," Robb adjusted the way he was seated, straightening his back when he realized he was slouching. It felt strange to suddenly have a relationship with Jory that was so different from the one they had had for much of Robb's life. Even though Jory was older by two and one half decades, and despite Robb always knowing that one day he would be Lord Stark of Winterfell, he felt as though he didn't quite have the experience needed to command a man who had fought in Robert's Rebellion and other battles besides. Regardless, Robb pressed on as surefooted as he had been taught. "You are a loyal man to my father, and I believe you to share such loyalty with me."

"Nothing less," Jory assured him.

Robb nodded again, "Which is why I believe I can trust you with this addition request. I must ask you do not share it with anyone, not even the men under your command, until the time is appropriate." Jory's expression took on a troubled appearance, uncertain of what Robb was about to ask and possibly fearing the worst. He was about to speak but Robb held up a hand to ask for his silence, and finished, "When you have reached Asshai, or Pentos, or Lys, or wherever else Daenerys might find someone who truthfully appears able to hatch those dragon eggs, I ask that you take the eggs, and the men, and leave her to return to Winterfell."

There was a moment of silence as Jory digested the words he had just heard. Tentatively he clarified, "You want me to guard her, only to abandon her in the middle of wherever without anything."

"Aye. I must ask that you take with you anything that she might use as payment for return passage, but above all the dragon eggs."

"Why, if you don't mind my asking. I only thought … Forgive me, Lord Robb, but the men have been heard saying how yourself and the Lady Targaryen are quite close to love."

 _Until my last day, I will love you,_  Robb remembered the words he had given her as well as he remembered the confidence with which his lord father had assured him that he would do well as the Stark of Winterfell in his absence.  _But words are not actions_. "It is true enough, but you must understand that if I had to chose between love and peace, I would chose peace. I will not pursue my love for her if it means the northmen must bleed in war. What do you believe she intends to do once she has her dragons hatched, if even such a thing can be achieved?"

"She has told me one will be given to the royal family, to ask pardon for her family's crimes and for leave to forfeit her claim so that she might live her remaining days in the north in peace."

"Aye, but how many dragon eggs does she possess?"

"Three," Jory said, realizing then what Robb was getting at.

The young lord explained it anyway. "Three indeed, one for the king for peace and pardon, but two for the north, for which she wants the peace. Do you see the flaw in her logic? The king will see it as a traitorous notion, and if he does not then the queen will surely convince him of as much. That is if they do not kill her before she enters the city. We will have armies at our gate we could not possibly defeat, and the realm will bleed again as it had bled before. A pair of broken hearts for the security of the realm is a sacrifice I am willing to make. I only pray you will help me achieve my goal."

Jory nodded, sitting forward in his seat and setting his cup aside. He stood up and knelt, looking up at Robb where he stood also, with a seriousness and courage Robb admired. "On my life and my honour, my loyalty is to House Stark and to the blood of Stark. I will do whatever you ask of me."

"Rise, Jory Cassel, and know that when you return, you and your kin need never worry for homage or gratitude. The north will know of your service to me, and you will be rewarded justly."

Jory rose and bowed at the waist again, making to leave the solar. Before he opened the door, however, he turned back and told Robb with the smile Robb had always associated with the man, "Your father may not necessarily agree with your methods, but he would admire your courage and your reasons."

"You have my thanks," Robb replied, smiling in return.

"And you, my silence," Jory said, and he left.

[]

Maester Luwin found her by the window in the clothes she had worn the previous day, reading by the light of the waning moon and sallow candle. Daenerys didn't realize that the old maester had arrived until he was nearly upon her. She moved to rise so that she could greet him, but Maester Luwin shook his head to ward off her efforts. Instead he sat at her feet and peered over the pages she was reading. "Winterfell had very few texts inscribed in High Valyrian before I sent for some from the Citadel. I think it was possibly seven in total, all as ancient as time itself some might believe. I am unaware of how they made it so far north. The tongue was never widely spoken in Westeros, least of all in the north."

"Perhaps from Bravvos? I have heard they speak it more frequently across the Narrow Sea."

"Indeed, they do, in various dialects and to select degrees to be sure."

Dany nodded slowly, looking over the pages and thinking. "Why did Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard elect to have me learned in Valyrian? I have always been curious yet never wanted to be rude by asking."

Maester Luwin sat a moment before he finally said, "I believe that, and this is the opinion of an old man who has served the north long enough to have known now three of its great lords, that the Lord and Lady Stark felt it of great import that you knew your ancestry to its fullest extent. Lady Catelyn had come to me shortly before Lord Eddard returned home, asking after whether there were Valyrian texts in the library, and when I told her no, she asked if I might acquire some. The war had only just come to end, and all the realm knew of King Robert's hatred for your House. Yet there she was, the Lady Stark hailing by her birth from House Tully, with her first son at her side and the Princess Targaryen at her hip. A bewildering sight indeed, and how was I to say no? I had the metal links, the means of acquiring such texts, and the knowledge to instruct you well. For the Lord and Lady Stark, I obliged."

"In doing so you not only taught me Valyrian but also Lady Sansa."

"Aye, and I suspect if Arya had sat still long enough she would have learned also, and her younger brothers for that matter."

"Robb and Jon never learned despite them being older than myself. Jon had no interest and little skill, and Robb was forever off with his lord father, learning of all the matters he would one day be responsible for."

The old man smiled at his memories, shaking his head slightly before glancing out the window and back to Dany. "Might I ask why you have locked yourself in the library, my lady? I took note of your progress through the texts on my way to you. I am only curious, as you leave in a few hours time."

Dany shut the text and set it on her legs with a sigh. "You know of many things, of healing and teaching and far away lands and customs. I believe you also to be a man willing to suspect the presence of greater forces of nature. Tell me truly then, do you believe that the dreams I have had are prophetic?"

Carefully, he replied, "I believe that the possibility of the notion to be correct is readily available to us in select texts and history."

"Do you then also believe in greenseers and wargs and the like? I mean to ask, is it possible for those abilities to be prevalent in the north?"

"I believe that you have not sleep in near a full day and are fatigued at mind." Maester Luwin said after a similar pause, in that same cautious tone he had used before.  _He knows something that he will not tell me. Or else he wishes me not to dig deeper than I have already done, nor tell anyone else what I_ _believe to be correct._ "Come, I will escort you to your bedchamber and tell the men you shall be delayed in your departure."

"There is no need, Maester. I have a letter I wish to send to my darlings Sansa and Arya, and then I shall bath and be fit for riding."

"Surely sleep would do you good, my lady."

Dany smiled pleasantly, but said pointedly, "There will be plenty of time for me to sleep aboard the ship. I will send this letter first, then bath, then ride, and then sleep. I trust you to trust my judgement."

"Of course, Lady Daenerys," Maester Luwin bowed at the waist, and offered a hand to help Dany rise. She accepted it and rose, walking in front of him.  _I will not be treated like a little girl, and I will not have Bran subjected to such_ _cruelty as I was. Sansa will help me. She must._

[]

Morning light broke through the cover of clouds slowly, and even then hardly enough to push aside the gloom. The state of the weather didn't have cause to bother any of them, departing or remaining men alike. Robb walked the yards with Jory, assessing horses, weapons, provisions and so on, while Bran merely walked about looking sad, but like he was doing his best not to let it show. Rickon on the other hand would not leave Daenerys' side for all the bribing in the realm.

"Sweet wolf, I have to go." Dany said, crouching down to his height as best she could without full on kneeling in the dirt.

"No you don't." Rickon protested, "Mother left because the king told her to, but the king didn't tell you to go so you don't have to."

She smiled sadly, taking his hands in her own so they couldn't be crossed over his chest in frustration. "My sweet wolf, has anyone told you why I must go?" Rickon shook his head dramatically, making her giggle. The sound of her laugh made him smile reluctantly. He was still upset she was leaving. "I'm leaving because I have three very important stones that I'm going to turn into dragons."

"You can't turn stones into dragons," he said, especially skeptical for a boy of five.

"Not normal stones, but these three are the size of my head and wear armour like Jory and your lord father do. If a stone wears armour, you can turn it into a dragon. But dragons can only be made across the Narrow Sea."

Rickon frowned at her, considering this new information with great willpower. At last he decided that it had to be true, what she was saying, even if he didn't necessarily like it at all. "Okay, but you have to come back, okay? Just like last time. You have to come back like last time."

"I promise I will come back." She took him in her arms and gave him a long hug. Rickon didn't want to let go, but Daenerys made him, and she kissed his nose and his forehead before she got to her feet and brushed off her dress. Bran, who had seen the whole thing, came over and wrapped himself around Dany's middle.  _He's already so tall, or else I'm rather short._  Rickon, envying his older brother, stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her legs. She hugged them back as best she could, willing herself not to cry.

"Bran, Rickon, come now, Daenerys has a ship to catch." His brothers stepped away as Robb approached. Dany kissed Bran same as she had Rickon and they both waited patiently to the side. Dany would have wrapped her arms around him and kissed him properly if they were alone and not surrounded by his men and younger brothers. Robb made no motion to do so either, merely offering her his arm as though she were any other highborn lady. Together they walked toward her horse, but they said nothing.

Only when she was mounted did Robb say to her, "Be safe, and keep close to Jory and the other men. Do not go anywhere alone."

"Yes, Lord Stark," she said, a hint of teasing there in her voice. He smiled at her, kissed her fingers softly, and stepped back.  _If only you were not so much your father, or I your wife,_ she thought as her horse started in procession, carrying her away from her home once again.  _I would have kissed you properly, like a lover, not a lady._

Robb watched her go with a small section of the men in service to House Stark. Bran and Rickon stood on either side of him, and stayed there until the horses were out of sight. Then Bran walked away, Summer falling into step beside him. Grey Wind and Shaggydog remained side by side, Grey Wind sitting in a regal manner while his brother lay with his head on his paws, visibly sad.

"She told me she was going to make dragons out of stones." Rickon said, looking all the way to his brother who was so tall he had to crane his neck back to see him.

"Did she?"

Rickon nodded, "Yup, she said she was coming back, too, but she didn't say when, like last time."

Robb looked down at his youngest brother. He had never really spent any time with Rickon; they were simply too far apart in age and responsibility. In a way, it was as though he didn't know his brother at all, yet in the same stride he felt as though no one knew him better. "Not for a very long time. Dragons take many years to hatch. It's the reason why there aren't any left in the world right now. They're all still working at hatching."

He watched Rickon nod again, saw how he stared out at the road where their lady mother had disappeared with their sisters, where Jon had disappeared for the Wall, where their father had disappeared with Ser Rodrick, and now Dany. "Will the others ever come back?" Rickon asked, his eyes full of questions and worries and uncertainty.

Robb wondered how he would manage his brothers now that all the women in his life were gone.  _Mother, Daenerys, Sansa, Arya, all gone off somewhere_   _else_. He suddenly realized that he and no idea how to raise children, which Rickon at least still very much was. For a moment he panicked before a memory irrelevant to the situation came back to him. One of the rare moments when he was still quite young and  _not_  in his father's solar, he had had Hodor carry him around the yard because he was tired. That was the whole memory, but maybe it was enough. _  
_

"Someday, one can hope," Robb replied, kneeling in the dirt. His brother looked at him, curious; Robb motioned for him to climb on.

Rickon did, locking his arms around his oldest brother's neck. "Will you ever leave?" he asked as Robb stood up.

"Not for all the gold of Casterly Rock."

He started walking toward the godswood, Rickon on his back. Their direwolves followed, Grey Wind nudging Shaggydog gently in the neck. Rickon eased his hold to keep from strangling Robb, and laid his cheek on his brother's shoulder. He wasn't sure how much gold was of Casterly Rock, but it sounded like a lot. If Robb wouldn't leave him for that much gold, he wouldn't ever leave Winterfell at all. "You're a good older brother Robb. You really are."


End file.
